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“I’ll be lookin’ at raisins,” said Pat 







The 

Widow O’ Callaghan’s 
Boys 

BY 

GULIELMA ZOLLINGER 

*r— 

New Edition, from New Plates 

With Illustrations in Color 
, By FLORENCE SCOVEL SHINN 






CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1905 


COPYRIGHT 

By A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
A. D. 1898; 1905 


First printing of this new illustrated edition 
September 30, 1905 





Two Oopies 

OCT 6 19U5 

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Cf)e Hafefstlif 

R, R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE ^ 

“ I ’ll be lookin’ at raisins,” said Pat. Frontispiece 
“ The names of things don’t tell half there is to 

’em sometimes ” . . . . .37 

All day Pat swept and dusted and wiped window 

panes . . . . . . . 54 ^ 

Jim was trying to get something away from 

Barney . . . . . . .88 

“ Sit in father’s chair, mother dear,” he coaxed 120 
“ Say, Jim — we’d better let those O’Callaghans 

alone 165 

“ Can you tell me this is a good piece that won’t 

fade ? ” . . . . . . . 188 v' 

The enraptured two — busy over the new family 

treasure ....... 202 

Seems to me this receipt sounds skimpin’ ” . 266 ^ 

“ ’T ain’t done good,” he snapped . . . 282 ^ 

He swelled with pride as he led the pretty little ^ 
maid . • . • . . 307 


[73 


V 


THE 

WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


CHAPTER I 

When Mr. O’Callaghan died, after a 
long, severe, and expensive sickness, he left 
to his widow a state of unlimited poverty 
and seven boys. 

“Sure, an’ sivin’s the parfect number,” 
she said through her tears, as she looked 
round on her flock; “and Tim was the bist 
man as iver lived, may the saints presarve 
him an’ rist him from his dreadful pains!” 

Thus did she loyally ignore the poverty. 
It was the last of February. Soon they 
must leave the tiny house of three rooms and 
the farm, for another renter stood ready to 

take possession. There would be nothing 
[ 9 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


to take with them but their clothing and their 
scant household furniture, for the farm rent 
and the sickness had swallowed up the crop, 
the farming implements, and all the stock. 

Pat, who was fifteen and the oldest, looked 
gloomily out at one of the kitchen windows, 
and Mike, the next brother, a boy of thirteen, 
looked as gloomily as he could out of the 
other. Mike always followed Pat’s lead. 

When eleven-year-old Andy was a baby 
Pat had taken him for a pet. Accordingly, 
when, two years later, Jim was born, Mike 
took him in charge. To-day Pat’s arm was 
thrown protectingly over Andy’s shoulder, 
while Jim stood in the embrace of Mike’s 
arm at the other window. Barney and 
Tommie, aged seven and five respectively, 
whispered together in a corner, and three- 
year-old Larry sat on the fioor at his mother’s 
feet looking wonderingly up into her face. 

Five days the father had slept in his grave, 
[ 10 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and still there was the same solemn hush of 
sorrow in the house that fell upon it when 
he died. 

“And what do you intend to do.^^” sym- 
pathetically asked Mrs. Smith, a well-to-do 
farmer’s wife and a neighbor. 

The widow straightened her trim little 
figure, wiped her eyes, and replied in a firm 
voice: “It’s goin’ to town I am, where 
there ’s work to be got, as well as good school- 
in’ for the b’ys.” 

“But don’t you think that seven boys are 
almost more than one little woman can sup- 
port Hadn’t you better put some of them 
out — for a time — the kind neighbor was 
quick to add, as she saw the gathering frown 
on the widow’s face. 

“Sure,” she replied, “ ’t was the Lord give 
me the b’ys, an’ ’t was the Lord took away 
their blissid father. Do ye think He ’d ’a’ 

done ayther wan or the other if He had n’t 
[ 11 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


thought I could care for ’em all? An’ I 
will, too. It may be we ’ll be hungry — 
yis, an’ cold, too — wanst in a while. But 
it won’t be for long.” 

“ But town is a bad place for boys, I ’m 
told,” urged the neighbor. 

“Not for mine,” answered the widow, 
quietly. “They’re their father’s b’ys, an’ 
I can depind on ’em. They moind me loight- 
est word. Come here, Pat, an’ Moike, an’ 
Andy, an’ Jim, an’ Barney, an’ Tommie!” 

Obediently the six drew near. She raised 
Larry to her lap, and looked up touchingly 
into their faces. “ Can’t I depind on ye, 
b’ys?” 

“Yes, mother, course you can,” answered 
Pat for them all. 

A moment the widow paused to steady 
her voice, and then resumed, “ It ’s all settled. 
A-Saturday I goes to town to get a place. 
A-Monday we moves. ” 

[ 12 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


The neighbor saw that it was indeed 
settled, and, like a discreet woman, did not 
push her counsel further, but presently took 
her leave, hoping that the future might be 
brighter than it promised for Mrs. O’ Callaghan 
and her boys. 

“Aise ’em up an’ down the hills, Pat, the 
dear bastes that your father loved!’' 

Mrs. O’Callaghan and Pat were driving 
to Wennott behind the team that was theirs 
no longer, and it was Saturday. No need 
to speak to Pat. The whip rested in the 
socket, and he wished, for his part, that the 
horses would crawl. He knew how poor 
they were, and he did not want to go to town. 
But mother said town, and town it must be. 

Down across the railroad track, a little 
northeast of the depot, was a triangular bit 
of ground containing about as much as two 
lots, and on it had been erected a poor little 

[ 13 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


shanty of two rooms. The widow knew 
of this place, and she meant to try to 
secure it. 

“ ’T will jist do for the loikes of us, Pat, 
for it ’s a low rint we ’re after, an’ a place 
quiet loike an’ free from obsarvers. If 
it ’s poor ye are, well an’ good, but, says I, 
‘There’s no use of makin’ a show of it.’ For 
it ’s not a pretty show that poverty makes, 
so it ain’t, an’, says I, ‘A pretty show or 
none.’ I see you’re of my moind, ” she 
continued, with a shrewd glance at him, “ an’ 
it heartens me whin ye agree with me, for 
your father ’s gone, an’ him and me used to 
agree wonderful.” 

Pat’s lips twitched. He had been very 
fond of his father. And all at once it seemed 
to him that town and the shanty were the 
two most desirable things in their future. 

“But, cheer up, Pat ! ’T was your father 
as was a loively man, d’ ye moind ? Yon ’s 

[ 14 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the town. It ’s hopin’ I am that our busi- 
ness ’ll soon be done.” 

Pat’s face brightened a little, for he found 
the entry into even so small a town as Wennott 
a diversion. To-day he looked about him 
with new interest, for here were streets and 
stores that were to become familiar to him. 
They entered the town from the south and 
drove directly to its center, where stood the 
court-house, in a small square surrounded 
by an iron hitching-rack. Stores faced it 
on every side, and above the stores were the 
lawyers’ offices. Which one belonged to the 
man who had charge of the place the widow 
wished to rent, she wondered, and Pat won- 
dered, as she stood by, while he tied the 
horses. 

Above the stores, too, were doctors’ offices, 
and dentists’ offices, dress-making shops, and 
suites of rooms where young couples and, in 
some instances, small families lived. 

[ 15 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“We’ll jist be inquirin’, Pat. ’T is the 
only way. But what to ask for, I don’t 
know. Shall I be sayin’ the bit of a place 
beyant the tracks?” 

“Yes, mother. That’s what you want, 
ain’t it?” 

“Sure it is, an’ nothin’ else, nayther. 
It ’s your father’s ways you have, Pat. 
’T was himsilf as wint iver straight after 
what he wanted.” 

Pat’s eyes beamed and he held himself 
more proudly. What higher praise could there 
be for him than to be thought like his father ? 

It chanced that the first lawyer they asked 
was the right one. 

“ Luck ’s for us, ” whispered the little 
widow. “Though maybe ’t would n’t have 
been against us, nayther, if we ’d had to hunt 
a bit.” 

And then all three set out to look at the 
poor little property. 


[ 16 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Sure, an’ it suits me purpose intoirely,” 
declared Mrs. O’Callaghan, when the bargain 
had been concluded. “An’ it’s home we’ll 
be goin’ at wanst. We ’ve naught to be 
buyin’ the day, seein’ we ’re movin’ in on 
Monday. ” 

Pat made no answer. 

“Did you see thim geese a-squawkin’ 
down by the tracks?” asked Mrs. O’Cal- 
laghan, as she and her son settled themselves 
on the high spring seat of the farm-wagon. 

Pat nodded. 

“There’s an idea,” said his mother. 
“There ’s more than wan in the world as can 
raise geese. An’ geese is nice atin’, too. I 
did n’t see no runnin’ water near, but there ’s 
plinty of ditches and low places where there ’ll 
be water a-standin’ a good bit of the toime. 
An’ thim that can’t git runnin’ water must 
take standin’. Yis, Pat, be they geese or 
min, in this world they must take what they 
[ 17 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


can git, an’ fat up on it as much as they can, 
too.” 

The thin little woman — thin from over- 
work and anxiety and grief — spoke thus 
to her tall son, who, from rapid growing, 
was thin, too, and she spoke with a soberness 
that told how she was trying to strengthen 
her own courage to meet the days before her. 
Absorbed in themselves, mother and son paid 
no heed to their surroundings, the horses 
fell into their accustomed brisk trot, and they 
were soon out on the narrow road that lay 
between the fields. 

“Now, Pat, me b’y,” said Mrs. O’Cal- 
laghan, rousing herself, “you ’re the oldest, 
an’ I ’ll tell you my plans. I ’m a-goin’ to 
git washin’ to do.” 

The boy looked at his mother in astonish- 
ment. 

“I know I ’m little,” she nodded back at 

him, “but it ’s the grit in me that makes me 
[ 18 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


strong. I can do it. For Tim’s b’ys an’ 
mine I can do it. Four days in the week 
I ’ll wash for other people, Friday I ’ll wash 
for my own, Saturday I ’ll mind for ’em, an’ 
Sunday I’ll rist.” 

A few moments there was silence. The 
widow seemed to have no more to say. 

^‘An’ what am I to do.^” finally burst 
out Pat. “An’ what’s Mike to do ? Sure 
we can help some way.” 

“That you can, Pat. I was cornin’ to 
that. Did you notice the biggest room in the 
little house we rinted the day.^” 

Pat nodded. 

“I thought you did. You ’re an obsarvin’ 
b’y, Pat, jist loike your father. Well, I 
belave that room will jist about hold three 
beds an’ lave a nate little path betwane ivery 
two of ’em. It ’s my notion we can be nate 
an’ clane if we are poor, an’ it ’ll be your part 
to make ivery wan of thim beds ivery day 

[ 19 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


an’ kape the floor clane. Larry an’ myself, 
we ’ll slape in the kitchen, an’ it ’s hopin’ I 
am you ’ll kape that shoinin’, too. An’ 
then there ’s the coal to be got in an’ the 
ashes to be took out. It does seem that 
iverything you bring in is the cause of some- 
thin’ to be took out, but it can’t be helped, 
so it can’t, so ‘Out with it,’ says I. An’ 
there ’s the dishes to be washed an’ — I hate 
to ask you, Pat, but do you think you could 
larn cookin’ a bit?” 

She looked at him anxiously. The boy 
met her look bravely. 

“ If you . can work to earn it, ’t is meself 
as can cook it, I guess, ” he said. 

“ Jist loike your father, you are, Pat. 
He was n’t niver afraid of tryin’ nothin’, an’ 
siven b’ys takes cookin’. An’ to hear you 
say you ’ll do it, whin I ’ve larnt you, of 
course, aises me moind wonderful. There ’s 

some as wouldn’t do it, Pat. I ’m jist tollin’ 
[ 20 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


you this to let you know you ’re better 
than most.” And she smiled upon him 
lovingly. 

‘‘If the most of ’em ’s that mean that 
they would n’t do what they could an’ their 
mother a-washin’, * ’t is well I ’m better than 
them, anyway,” returned Pat. 

Ah, but Pat, they ’d think it benathe 
’em. ’T is some grand thing they ’d be 
doin’ that could n’t be done at all. That ’s 
the way with some, Pat. It ’s grand or 
nothin’, an’ sure an’ it ’s ginerally nothin’, 
I ’ve noticed. ” 

A mile they went in silence, and then 
Mrs. O’Callaghan said : “As for the rist, 
you ’ll all go to school but Larry, an’ him 
I ’ll take with me when I go a-washin’. I 
know I can foind thim in the town that ’ll 
help a poor widow that much, an’ that ’s all 
the help I want, too. Bad luck to beggars. 
I ’m none of ’em.” 


[ 21 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Pat did not respond except by a kindly 
glance to show that he heard, and his mother 
said no more till they drove in at the farm 
gate. 

“An’ it’s quite the man Pat is,” she 
cried cheerily to the six who came out to meet 
them. “You ’ll do well, all of you, to pattern 
by Pat. An’ it ’s movin’ we ’ll be on Monday, 
jist as I told you. It ’s but a small place 
we ’ve got, as Pat will tell you there. Close 
to the north side of the town it is, down by 
the railroad tracks, where you can see all the 
trains pass by day an’ hear ’em by night ; 
an’ there ’s freight cars standin’ about at all 
toimes that you can look at, an’ they ’ve got 
iron ladders on the inds of ’em, but you must 
niver be goin’ a-climbin’ on top of thim 
cars. ” 

At this announcement Andy and Jim 
looked interested, and the eyes of Barney and 

Tommie fairly shone with excitement. The 
[ 22 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


widow had accomplished her object. Her 
boys were favorably inclined toward the new 
home, and she slipped into her bedroom to 
shed in secret the tears she could no longer 
restrain. 


[ 23 ] 


CHAPTER II 


Sunday dawned cold and blustering, — a 
sullen day that seemed hardly to know which 
way was best to make itself disagreeable, 
and so tried them all. The stock had been 
removed. There was no work outside for 
the two oldest boys, no watching indoors by 
the hungry little brothers for Pat and Mike 
to be through milking, and feeding, and 
pumping water into the trough, so that they 
might all have breakfast together. Yes, there 
had been a little work. The two horses 
which, with the wagon, had been kindly lent 
them for their next day’s moving were in the 
barn. Mike had fed and watered them, 
Pat had combed them, and both had petted 
them. 

Many a time that day would Mrs. O’Cal- 

[ 24 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


laghan slip out to stroke their noses and pat 
their glossy necks and say in a choked voice, 
“Tim’s horses! Tim’s horses! and we can’t 
kape ’em!” And many a time that day 
would she smooth the signs of grief from 
her face to go into the house again with what 
cheer she could to her seven sons, who were 
gathered listlessly about the kitchen stove. 
Many a time that day would she tell herself 
stoutly, “I ’ll not give in! I ’ll not give in! 
I ’ve to be brave for eight, so I have. Brave 
for my b’ys, and brave for mesilf. And shall 
I fret more than is good for Tim’s horses 
whin I know it ’s to a kind master they ’re 
goin’, and he himself a helpin’ us to-morrow 
with the movin’ The Lord’s will be done! 
There ’s thim that thinks the Lord has no 
will for horses and such. And ’t is mesilf 
is thankful that I can’t agree with ’em.” 

Occasionally, as the morning passed, one 
of the boys stepped to the window for a 

[ 25 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


moment, for even to glance out at flying 
flakes and a wintry landscape was a relief 
from the depression that had settled down 
upon them all. 

That was a neighborhood of churches. 
Seven or eight miles from any town, it was 
remarkable to see three churches within half 
a mile of each other. Small, plain buildings 
they were, but they represented the Arm 
convictions of the United Brethren, the United 
Presbyterians, and the Methodists for many 
miles around. Now, all these people, vary 
as they might in church creeds, were united 
in a hearty admiration for plucky little Mrs. 
O’Callaghan. They all knew, though the 
widow would not own it, that destitution was 
at her door. The women feared that in 
taking her boys to town she was taking them 
to their ruin, while the men thought her 
course the only one, since a destitute woman 

can hardly run a farm with only seven grow- 
[ 26 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ing boys to help her. And for a day or two 
there had been busy riding to and fro among 
the neighbors. 

The snow fell fitfully, and the wind howled 
in gusts, but every farmer hitched up and 
took his wife and children with him, and 
no family went empty-handed. For every 
road to every church lay straight by the 
widow’s door. Short cuts there were to be 
used on general occasions, but that morning 
there was but one road. And so it fell out 
that by ten o’clock there was a goodly pro- 
cession of farm-wagons, with here and there 
a buggy, and presently the widow’s fence was 
lined with teams, and the men, women, and 
children were alighting and thronging up the 
narrow path to Mrs. O’Callaghan’s door. 
There was no merriment, but there was a 
kindly look on every face, that was beautiful 
to see. And there were those between whom 
bitterness had been growing that smiled 

[ 27 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


upon each other to-day, as they jostled 
burdens on the path; for every one carried 
something, even the children, who stumbled 
by reason of their very importance. 

The widow looked out and saw the full 
hands, and her heart sank. Was she to be 
provided for by charity.^ She looked with 
her keen eyes into the crowd of faces, and 
her heart went up into her throat. It was 
not charity, but neighborliness and good 
will she read there. 

“ I ’d be wan of ’em, if somebody else was 
me, may the Lord bless ’em, ” she said, as she 
opened wide the door. 

In they trooped, and for a moment every- 
body seemed to be talking at once. It some- 
times needs a great deal of talk to make 
a kind deed seem like nothing at all. Some- 
times even a great deal of talk fails to do 
so. It failed to-day. 

Tears were running unheeded down the 
[ 28 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


widow’s face. Not even her boys knew how 
everything was gone, and she left with no 
money to buy more. And everybody tried 
not to see the tears and everybody talked 
faster than ever. Then the first church bell 
rang out, and old and young turned to go. 
There came a little lull as one after another 
gave the widow’s hand a cordial clasp. 

“My friends,” said Mrs. O’Callaghan, — 
she could be heard now, — “my dear friends, 
I thank you all. You have made my heart 
strong the day.” 

“I call that a pretty good way to put in 
time on Sunday,” said one man to another, 
as they were untying their teams. 

“Makes going to church seem worth while, 
for a fact,” replied his neighbor. 

Not till the last vehicle had passed from 
sight did the widow look round upon what 
her neighbors had left her, and then she saw 
suflScient pantry stores to last even seven 

[ 29 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


growing boys for a month. And among 
the rest of her gifts she found coal for a week. 
She had not noticed her sons as she busily 
took account of her stock, but when she 
said, “B’ys, b’ys ! ’t is your father sees the 
hearts of these good people this day and 
rej’ices. Ah, but Tim was a ginerous man 
himsilf ! It ’s hopin’ I am you ’ll all be 
loike him.” 

That night when the younger boys were 
in bed, and only Pat and Mike sat keeping 
her company, the widow rose from her seat, 
went to a box already packed and took there- 
from an account book and pencil. 

“They’re your father’s,” she said, “but 
it ’s a good use I ’ll be puttin’ ’em to. ” 

Writing was, for the hand otherwise ca- 
pable, a laborious task ; but no help would 
she have from either of her sons. 

“May I ask you not to be spakin’.^” she 
said politely to the two. “It’s not used 

[ 30 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


to writin’ I am, and I must be thinkin’ 
besides. ” 

Two hours she sat there, her boys glancing 
curiously at her now and then at first, and 
later falling into a doze in their chairs. She 
wrote two words and stopped. Over and 
over she wrote two words and stopped. Over 
and over until she had written two words 
and stopped fifty times. And often she wiped 
away her tears. At last her task was done, 
and there in the book, the letters misshapen 
and some of the words misspelled, were the 
names of all who had come to her that morn- 
ing. Just fifty there were of them. She read 
them over carefully to see that she had not 
forgotten any. 

“Maybe I’ll be havin’ the chance to do 
’em a good turn some day,” she said. “I 
will, if I can. But whether I do or not, I ’ve 
got it here in writin’, that when all was gone, 
and I did n’t have nothin’, the Lord sint fifty 

[ 31 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


friends to help me out. Let me be gettin’ 
down in the heart and discouraged again, 
and I ’ll take this book and read the Lord’s 
doin’s for me. Come Pat and Moike ! It ’s 
to bed you must be goin’, for we ’re to move 
to-morrow, do you moind?” 


CHAPTER III 


According to Mrs. O’Callaghan’s plans, 
the moving was accomplished the next day. 
There was but one load of household goods, 
so that the two teams of their kind neighbor 
made only one trip, but that load, with the 
seven boys and their mother, filled the shanty 
by the tracks to overflowing. The little 
boys immediately upon their arrival had 
been all eyes for the trains, and, failing 
them, the freight cars. And they had re- 
luctantly promised never to ascend the iron 
freight car ladders when they had been in 
their new home only one hour. 

“Whin you’re dailin’ with b’ys take ’em 
in toime,” was the widow’s motto. “What ’s 
the use of lettin’ ’em climb up and fall down, 

and maybe break their legs or arms, and 
[ 33 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


then take their promise ? Sure, and I ’ll 
take it before the harm ’s done, so I will. ” 
Such tooting the delighted little fellows 
had never heard. “Barney!” whispered 
Tommie, in the middle of the night, with 
a nudge, “Barney! there’s another of 
’em!” 

“And listen to the bell on it,” returned 
Barney. “Ain’t you glad we moved .P” 
And then they fell asleep to wake and 
repeat the conversation a little later. Larry 
was the only one who slept the night through. 
The rest were waked so many times by the 
unaccustomed noise that one night seemed 
like twenty. 

“We ’ll be used to it in toime,” said the 
heavy-eyed little widow to yawning Pat and 
Mike the next morning. “ And the more 
things you get used to in this world the better 
for you. I belave it ’s quite something loike 
to be able to sleep with engines tootin’ and 

[ 34 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


blowin’ off steam, and bells a-ringin’, and 
cars a-bumpin’. Even a baby can slape 
where ’t is quiet, you know. ” 

Breakfast had been over an hour. “Now, 
Pat,” said his mother, “that’s not the way 
to make beds. Off with them covers and 
make ’em over again.” 

Mrs. O’Callaghan was standing in the 
doorway and looking in at the roomful of 
beds. “I don’t mane it for unkindness, 
Pat, but sure and the way you ’ve got ’em 
made up they look jist loike pigs’ nests with 
covers over ’em. There, that ’s better, ” she 
commented, when Pat had obediently made 
all the beds over again under her instruc- 
tions. “You can’t larn all there is to bed- 
makin’ in a day. ’T is practice makes parfect, 
as your copybook used to say. But I ’m 
thinkin’ you ’ll have it in a week, for you ’re 
your father’s son, and he was a quick wan 
to larn, was Tim. And now I ’ll be teachin’ 

[ 35 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


you a bit of cookin’ while I have a chance. 
You must larn that as quick as you can, 
Pat, for a poor cook wastes a sight, besides 
settin’ dishes of stuff on the table that none 
but pigs can eat. And in most places the 
pigs would get their messes, but here we ’ve 
got no pigs, and whativer you cook we ’ve 
got to be eatin’. Andy was askin’ for beans 
for to-morrow a bit ago. What ’s your idea 
about bakin’ beans, Pat.^ How would you 
do it 

Pat thought a moment. “I’d wash ’em 
good, and put ’em in a pan, and bake ’em,” 
he said. 

“Sure, then, you’ve left out one thing. 
With that receipt, Pat, you ’d need a ham- 
mer to crack ’em with after they was baked. 
No, no, Pat, you pick ’em over good and 
put ’em a-soak over night. In the mornin’ 
you pick ’em over again, and wash ’em good 
and bile ’em awhile, and pour off the water, 

[ 36 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and bile ’em again in fresh water with jist 
enough salt in it, and then you put ’em in 
the oven and bake ’em along with a piece 
of pork that ’s been a-bilin’ in another kit- 
tle all the toime. ” 

Pat looked a trifle astonished, but all he 
said was, Baked beans is a queer name 
for ’em, ain’t it?” 

Mrs. O’Callaghan smiled. “That ’s the 
short of it, Pat, jist the short of it. The 
names of things don’t tell half there is to 
’em sometoimes. And now for the dinner. 
It ’s belavin’ I am you can cook it with me 
standin’ by to help you out when you get 
into trouble. ” 

Pat tied on a clean apron, washed his 
hands, and set to work. 

“That ’s it ! That ’s it !” encouraged Mrs. 
O’Callaghan, from time to time, as the 
cooking progressed. “And I ’ll jist be tellin’ 

you, Pat, you ’re not so green as some girls 
[ 37 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


I ’ve seen. I ’d rather have a handy b’y 
as an unhandy girl any day.” 

A little later she stood in the shanty door. 
“Come, Moike!” she called. “Bring the 
little b’ys in to dinner. Pat ’s a-dishin’ it 
a’ready. ” 

Mike had been detailed by his prudent 
mother as a guard to prevent his small brothers 
from making too intimate acquaintance with 
freight cars and engines. He was by this 
time pretty hungry, and he marshalled in 
his squad with scant ceremony. 

A week went by and the widow was 
settled. Each boy was placed in his proper 
class at the public school, and the mother 
had her coveted four washing places. 

“I didn’t come to town to be foolin’ 
my toime away, so I didn’t,” said Mrs. 
O’Callaghan, as she sat down to rest with 
a satisfied face. “Pat,” she continued, 
“you ’ve done foine with the work this week. 

[ 38 ] 







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“The names of things don’t tell half there is to ’em 


sometimes 








THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


All I ’ve to say is, ‘ Kape on. ’ It ’ll kape 
you busy at it with school on your hands, 
but, sure, them as is busy ain’t in mischief, 
nayther. ” 

The next week all went well with the 
widow and Larry as usual, but the boys 
at school found rough sailing. 

“Ah, but Mrs. Thom.pson ’s the jewel!” 
cried Mrs. O’ Callaghan on Monday evening. 
“She do be sayin’ that Larry’s a cute little 
fellow, and she has him in to play where she 
is, and he gets to hear the canary bird sing, 
so he does. Did n’t I be tellin’ you, Pat, 
that I knew there was them in this town 
would help me that way.^^ But what makes 
you look so glum ? Did n’t you foind the 
school foine the day.^^ Niver moind 1 You 
ain’t acquainted yet. And jist remember 
that iverybody has a deal to bear in this 
world, and the poor most of all. If anybody 
does you a rale wrong, come tell me of it. 

[ 39 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


But if it ’s only nignaggin’, say naught about 
it. ’T won’t last foriver, anyway, and them 
that ’s mane enough to nignag a poor b’y 
is too mane to desarve attintion, so they 
are.” 

The widow looked searchingly at her 
older sons. She saw them, under the tonic 
of her sound counsel, straighten themselves 
with renewed courage, and she smiled upon 
them. 

“I’ll niver be makin’ Tim’s b’ys weak- 
spirited by lettin’ ’em tittle-tattle of what 
can’t be helped,” she thought. 

“Now, b’ys, heads up, and do your bist!” 
she said the next morning as she went to 
her work. 

But it was one thing to hold up their 
heads at the shanty, and quite another to 
hold them up on the noisy, swarming campus 
where they knew nobody, and where the 
ill-bred bullies of the school felt free to leer 

[ 40 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and gibe at their poor clothing and their 
shy, awkward ways. 

“Patrick O’Callaghan!” yelled Jim Bar- 
rows derisively. 

It was recess and the campus was over- 
flowing with boys and girls, but Pat was 
alone. “Just over from the ‘ould coon- 
thry’,” he continued. “You can tell by 
his clothes. He got wet a-comin’, and just 
see how they’ve shrunk!” 

The overgrown, hulking fellow lounged 
closer to the tall and slender Irish boy, 
followed by the rough set that acknowledged 
him as a leader. Some measured the distance 
from the ends of Pat’s jacket sleeves to his 
wrists, while others predicted the number of 
days that must elapse before his arms burst 
through the sleeves. 

The spirit of the country-bred boy quailed 
before this coarse abuse, which he knew 
not how to resent. He glanced about him, 

[ 41 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


but no way of escape offered. He was 
hemmed in. And then the bell struck. 
Recess was over. He thought of his brothers 
in different grades from himself, though in 
the same building. “Is there them that 
makes it hot for ’em when they can.^^” he 
said anxiously to himself. “We’ll have to 
be stayin’ more together mornin’s and noons 
and recesses, so we will.” 

But staying together did not avail. Jim 
Barrows and his set found more delight in 
tormenting several unresisting victims than 
they could possibly have enjoyed with only 
one. 

Ah, but this nignaggin’ ’s hard to stand !” 
thought Pat a week later. He was on his 
way to school. Pat was always last to get 
off on account of his work. That morning 
Jim Barrows was feeling particularly valiant. 
He thought of the “O’Callaghan tribe,” 
as he called them, and his spirit rose. He 

[ 42 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


was seventeen and large for his age. “Them 
low Irish needs somebody to keep ’em to 
their places,” he said to himself, “and I’m 
the one to do it. ” 

Just then he spied Andy a few steps 
ahead of him, Andy, who was only eleven, 
and small and frail. Two strides of his 
long legs overtook the little boy. A big, 
ugly hand laid itself firmly on the shrinking 
little shoulder. Words of abuse assailed the 
sensitive ears, and were followed by a rude 
blow. Then Jim Barrows, regarding his 
duty done for that time, lounged on, leaving 
the little fellow crying pitifully. 

A few moments later, Pat came along, 
and finding his favorite brother crying, in- 
sisted upon knowing the reason. And Andy 
told him. With all the abuse they had 
borne, not one of the brothers had been 
struck before. As Pat listened his anger 
grew to fury. His blue eyes flashed like steel. 

[ 43 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Cheer up, Andy,” he said, “and run 
on to school. You need n’t be afraid. I 
can’t go with you ; I ’ve business on hand. 
But you need n’t be afraid. ” 

He had just ten minutes till school would 
call. Who was that, two blocks off, loitering 
on a corner.? Was it — it was Jim Bar- 
rows. 

With a dogged step that did not seem 
hurried, Pat yet went rapidly forward. 
Straight up to the bully he walked and 
looked him firmly in the eye. “You struck 
my brother Andy because you thought you 
could,” he said. And then, in the language 
of those Western boys, “he lit into him.” 
“’Tis Andy’s fist is on you now!” he cried, 
while he rained blows on the hulking coward, 
who did not offer to defend himself. “And 
there!” with a tremendous kick as Jim 
Barrows turned to run, “is a taste of his 
foot. Touch him again if you dare!” 

[ 44 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Needless to say, he did n’t dare. 

“I hear your brother Andy’s been fight- 
ing,” said the principal, as he stopped Pat 
the next day in the street. “At least, there 
are marks of Andy’s fist and Andy’s foot on 
Jim Barrows. ” His eyes twinkled as he 
spoke and then grew grave again. “Fight- 
ing ’s a bad thing in general, but you are 
excusable, my lad, you are excusable.” 

Pat looked after the principal going with 
a quick, firm step on his busy way, and thought 
him the finest man in town, for, so far, no- 
body had given the poor Irish boy a word 
of sympathy and encouragement. 

That evening Pat ventured to tell his 
mother. 

“ And so that ’s what the principal said, 
is it.^” commented Mrs. O’Callaghan. “He ’s 
a man of sinse. Your father was a man 
of great sinse, Pat. Fightin’ is a bad thing, 
so it is. But your father ’s gone, and it ’s 

[ 45 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


you must kape the little wans from harm in his 
place. You ’d be but a bad brother to stand 
by and see any wan strike little Andy. 
There ’s some things has got to be put a stop 
to, and the sooner it ’s done the better, says 
I.” Then after a pause, “I hope you larn 
your lessons, Pat.^” 

“I do, mother.” 

“I thought you would. Your father al- 
ways larnt all that come handy to him. 
Larnin ’s no load, Pat. Larn all you can. ” 
Now Pat, with the exception of Latin, 
was no whit behind other boys of his age, 
for he had been sent to school in the country 
from the time he was five years old. The 
fight being over, he gave his mind thoroughly 
to his books, a thing he could not do 
while he did not know what to expect from 
Jim Barrows and his set, and his class-stand- 
ing was high. 

And now the first of April was at hand. 

[ 46 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


The O’Callaghans had been a month in 
town, and the widow was beginning to see that 
she had overestimated the purchasing power 
of what she could earn at four washing 
places. Four dollars a week needed a sup- 
plement. How could it be supplied? Mrs. 
O’Callaghan cast about in her mind. She 
had already discovered that Wennott offered 
a poor field for employment so far as boys 
were concerned, and yet, in some way her 
boys must help her. By day, by night, she 
thought and could hit upon nothing unless 
she took her sons from school. 

“And that I’ll not do,” she said, “for 
lamin’ is at the root of everything.” 


[ 47 ] 


CHAPTER IV 


Is Friday an unlucky day? You could 
not get Mrs. O’Callaghan to think so, for 
it was upon Friday that closed a week of 
anxious thinking that Mrs. Brady called 
at the shanty. Neither could you get Mrs. 
Brady to think so, for — but let us begin 
a little further back. Hired girls, as they 
were called in Wennott, were extremely scarce. 
Mrs. Brady was without one — could not get 
one, though she had advertised long and 
patiently. Now she was tired to exhaustion. 
Sitting in the old wooden rocker that had 
been Mr. O’Callaghan’s, Mrs. Brady rested 
a few moments closely surrounded on all 
sides by the O’ Callaghan furniture. 

“’Tis a bit snug, ma’am,” Mrs. O’Cal- 
laghan had said when piloting her to this 

[ 48 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


seat, “but it’s my belafe my b’ys don’t 
moind the snugness of it so much as they 
would if they was girls.” 

Mrs. Brady mechanically agreed. 

The four walls of the kitchen were rather 
too close together to enclose a bed, a wash- 
bench, two tubs, a cooking-stove, a table, 
seven Windsor chairs, the water-pail, the 
cupboard, and the rocking-chair in which 
Mrs. Brady sat, and leave anything but a 
tortuous path for locomotion. The boys 
knew the track, however, and seldom ran 
up against anything with sufficient force 
to disturb it or their own serenity. But 
there was not a speck of dust anywhere, as 
Mrs. Brady noticed. 

The widow’s face was a little careworn 
and anxious as she sat close at hand in one 
of the wooden chairs listening to Mrs. Brady’s 
explanation of her need of help. 

“You have been recommended to me 

[ 49 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


by Mrs. Thompson. Could you come to 
me to-morrow, Mrs. O ’ Callaghan It will 
be a day of sweeping and general cleaning,” 
she concluded. 

The widow’s countenance began to 
brighten. She saw her way out of the dif- 
ficulty that had been puzzling her. 

“ I can’t come mesilf, she answered, polite- 
ly, “for with my sivin b’ys I’ve my own 
work that can’t be neglected. But my son 
Pat will do it for you. I ’ll come with him 
jist to get him started loike, for he ’s niver 
swept a carpet, though he swapes a bare 
fioor ilegant. ” 

Well, to be sure, Mrs. Brady was not 
overjoyed. But she saw it was Pat or no- 
body, and she was very tired. So she agreed 
to try him. 

“And when will you have him come.^” 
asked Mrs. O’Callaghan. There was no 
doubt expressed on the mother’s face ; no 

[ 50 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN^S BOYS 


fear lest her son might not be able to 
please. 

“At eight,” responded Mrs. Brady. “I 
cannot be ready for him sooner.” 

“Then together we’ll be there, you may 
depind. ” 

And Mrs. Brady, on the whole dissatisfied, 
went on her way. “If that boy — Pat, I 
think she called him — can do housework 
satisfactorily, he ’s the only boy that I ’ve 
heard of here that can,” she thought. 

The next morning when the two pre- 
sented themselves, Mrs. Brady, after show- 
ing Mrs. O’ Callaghan where to leave her 
wraps, led the way at once to her bedroom. 
“Perhaps you will just make my bed for me 
before you go, Mrs. O’Callaghan,” she in- 
sinuated. “It has been properly aired and 
is ready.” 

“O Pat will make it for you, ma’am,” was 

the answer, and again Mrs. Brady yielded. 

[ 51 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Now, Pat, on with your blouse.” 

The two women waited while Pat untied 
the bundle he carried and put on a clean 
cotton blouse. 

“ ’T was his father’s blouse, ma’am. A 
bit loose now, but he ’ll grow to it. He ’s 
very loike his father. ” 

Mrs. Brady looked at the tall, slender 
boy wearing his father’s blouse and his 
mother’s apron, with an old straw hat on 
his head for a dust protector, and then at 
the mother watching his every movement 
with loving eyes, and only anxious that he 
might give satisfaction. And all sense of 
incongruity vanished from her mind. 

“Now, Pat, show the lady what you can 
do. ” And Pat obeyed as if he were five 
instead of fifteen. The dead father had 
trained his sons from their babyhood to 
yield implicit obedience to their mother. 

Deftly he set to work. He turned the mat- 
152 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


tress ; he smoothed and tucked in each sheet 
and cover as he put it on ; he beat up the 
pillows — and within ten minutes the bed was 
perfectly made. There was no need for 
Mrs. Brady to speak. She showed her sur- 
prise and delight in her face. 

“I was thinkin’ Pat could suit you, 
ma’am,” smiled the mother. “And now 
if you ’ve more beds, maybe Pat had better 
make ’em before the dust of the swapin’ is 
on him. ” 

“I have no more this morning,” responded 
Mrs. Brady, courteously. 

“Then, Pat, there’s the broom.” Then 
she turned to Mrs. Brady. “Now, ma’am, 
what ’s your ideas about swapin’ ? There ’s 
them that says, ‘ Swape aisy and not be 
gettin’ the wools off the carpet.’ But them 
wools don’t many of ’em come off the carpet. 
There ’s a plinty of ’em comes on bare floors 
that ain’t swept regular. I says, A vigor- 

[ 53 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ous swapin’ and no light brushin’ except 
by a lady loike- yourself as has n’t got 
strength. ” 

“Those are my ideas, too,” said Mrs. 
Brady, as with an air of satisfaction she be- 
gan to spread the dust covers over her bed. 

All day Pat swept and dusted and wiped 
paint and window-panes, and at night he went 
home with seventy-five cents in his pocket. 

The widow was getting supper, but she 
worked mechanically, for her heart was in her 
ears, and they were listening for Pat’s step. 
The brothers, stowed here and there in chinks 
between the pieces of furniture, watched 
with eager eyes their mother’s movements, 
and sniffed the savory odors that escaped from 
a perfectly clean saucepan in capable hands. 
But no boy lounged on the bed, nor even 
leaned against it, and no one sat in the father’s 
chair. To sit there meant special honor at 
the hands of the family. 

[ 54 ] 



All day Pat swept and dusted and wiped window panes 




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THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“ And it ’s Pat will sit in the rocking-chair 
and rest himsilf this avenin’,” cried Mrs. 
O’ Callaghan, returning to her cooking from 
a brief trip to the door. ‘Tt ’s Pat ’ll be bring- 
in’ home money the night, honest money 
that he’s earned.” 

The little boys appeared impressed, and on 
Mike’s face came a look of determination that 
led his mother to say, “ All in good toime, 
Moike. You ’re as willin’ as Pat any day. I 
know that. And the way you look after the 
little b’ys, your father himself could n’t do 
better.” 

And then Pat came stepping in. 

“ Did she praise you, Pat ? ” cried the little 
woman, as she dished up the supper. She was 
hungry for appreciation of her boy. 

“ She did that. She said, ‘ Patrick, you ’re 
elegant help, and will you come again next 
Saturday ? ” 

“ And what did you tell her ? ” 

[ 55 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“ I told her I would, and let that Jim Bar- 
rows keep a civil tongue in his head when he 
hears of it, or I ’ll be teaching him another 
lesson. He ’ll not be throwin’ it up to me that 
it ’s girl’s work I ’m doin’ if he knows what ’s 
best for him.” 

“ Listen to me, Pat,” said his mother, 
soberly. “ I ’ll be tellin’ you now my plans 
for you so you ’ll not be runnin’ agin ’em. It ’s 
to be a gintleman you are, and gintlemen 
don’t fight jist because some Jim Barrows of a 
fellow says tauntin’ words to ’em. You had 
to kape him off Andy, but moindin’ his impu- 
dence to yoursilf is another thing.” 

For the first time in his life Pat looked un- 
convinced of his mother’s wisdom, and she 
went on soothingly, “ But sure and I don’t 
belave he ’ll be sayin’ a word to you, Pat. 
And anyway, you know how many of the 
blessed saints and angels was women on the 
earth, and how it was their work to kape 

[ 56 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


things clane and pleasant for them they loved. 
And that ain’t a work to be ashamed of by 
girl or b’y.” 

The little boys busily eating had seemed not 
to notice. Only Mike had looked on with 
interest. But into all their hearts had sunk 
the lesson that gentlemen did not fight. 

‘‘ Are we all to be gintlemen ? ” asked Bar- 
ney, looking up when his plate was quite 
empty. 

“ Ivery wan of you. What should your 
father’s b’ys be but gintlemen, and him the 
best man as iver lived ? ” 

It was not to be expected that in any place 
service such as Pat’s would be willingly done 
without, least of all in Wennott. The more 
Mrs. Brady thought of it, the smaller and more 
unsatisfactory did Saturday appear, and on 
Friday morning she went again to the shanty. 

“And I hope you’re not come to say 

you ’ve changed your mind about wantin’ 
[ 57 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Pat to-morrow,” said Mrs. O’Callaghan, 
when civil greetings had been exchanged and 
Mrs. Brady sat once more in the rocker. 

“ In one sense I have changed my mind,” 
answered Mrs. Brady with a smile. “I want 
Pat to-morrow, but I want him all the other 
days of the week, too.” 

The widow was silent. She had not planned 
so far as this. What would Pat say ? Would 
he do it ? 

“ I will give him his board and lodging and 
a dollar a week to help me Saturday and Sun- 
day, and before and after school the other days 
of the week. Saturday he would have to work 
all day of course, but Sunday he would have 
almost nothing to do,” said Mrs. Brady. 
“The washing and ironing I put out,” she 
added, as Mrs. O’Callaghan still hesitated. 

“You ’re very koind, ma’am,” responded 
the widow, after a pause. “ I hope Pat ’ll 
go to you. I ’ll ask him.” 

[ 58 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“ What makes you think he might not like 
to come?” inquired Mrs. Brady, anxious in 
her turn. 

‘‘ Well, you see, ma’am, ’tis girl’s work en- 
toirely you want him to do. And Pat ’s been 
put on and made fun of almost more than he 
can bear since we moved to Wennott. Sure 
and them b’ys — I ’d call ’em imps, only they ’re 
big for imps, bein’ bigger and stouter than Pat 
himself — they sets on him and foretells when 
his arms is goin’ to burst through his sleeves 
and such as that, loike an almanac, ma’am. 
And him a-loikin’ nice clothes as well as any 
one, only he can’t get ’em, because it ’s poor 
we are, ma’am. Not that there’s anything 
wrong about that. ’T is the Lord’s will that 
it’s so, and we’re doin’ our best with it. 
But Pat’s young. He didn’t mean to tell 
me of it, but his moind bein’ full of it, it 
slipped out. 

“ Pat, he done as I told him, and come to 

[ 59 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


you a-Saturday, and he’d kape on cornin’ Satur- 
days, but I can’t tell him he must go out to 
service loike a girl, when I know what thim 
b’ys will have in store for him. I must jist ask 
him, do you see ? And what he ’ll say, I can’t 
tell. He ’s mighty brave. Maybe he ’ll come. 
I ’ve been tellin’ him he ’s not to be lickin’ that 
Jim Barrows if he is impudent to him.” 

“ Does Pat fight ? ” asked Mrs. Brady 
doubtfully. “ He seemed so amiable.” 

“ And pleasant he is,” cried the widow 
earnestly. “ ’T was not for himsilf he fought, 
do you understand ? ’T was because Jim Bar- 
rows hurt Andy’s feelin’s and struck him be- 
sides. Andy ’s my third son, ma’am. He ’s 
only eleven, and not strong ayther. And Pat, 
he loves him better, I belave, than he does all 
the rest of the b’ys put together.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Mrs. Brady with a relieved 
air. 

“ But havin’ got a taste of makin’ Jim Bar- 
[ 60 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


rows kape off Andy has sort of got him in the 
notion of not takin’ nothin’ off him, do you 
see ? But it ’s his father has a good influence 
over him yet. Tim’s in his grave, ma’am, 
but it’s meanin’ I am he shall still rule his 
b’ys. And he does, too.” 


[ 61 ] 


CHAPTER V 


There was a certain part of Wennott which 
its own residents were wont to think was the 
part of town in which to live. Sometimes in 
confidence they even congratulated themselves 
over their own good fortune and commiserated 
the rest of the town who lived upon the flat 
lands. 

The rest of the town were not discontented 
in the least. They thought northeast Wennott 
was a little far out, themselves. And it was a 
good three-quarters of a mile from the public 
square. But the knolls were not to be had any 
nearer, and those who owned them felt repaid 
for the walk it took to reach them. The places 
were larger, the air was fresher and sweeter, 
and there was only one knoll to rent among 

them all. Beyond the knolls were the north- 
162 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


east suburbs, built upon as flat land as any the 
town afforded, and farther on stretched rolling 
prairie, picturesquely beautiful. It was upon 
one of the knolls that Mrs. Brady lived, in a 
square house of an old-fashioned build, hav- 
ing a hall running through the center with 
rooms on each side. It fronted the west. To 
the left, as one entered, was the dining-room; 
to the right, the parlor, whose always open 
folding doors made the pleasant sitting-room 
a part of itself. There was a bay-window in 
the east end of the sitting-room, and one’s first 
glance in at the parlor door from the hall 
always traveled past everything else to rest on 
the mass of green and blossoms in the bay- 
window. For Mrs. Brady was an expert at 
floriculture. Here and there on the lawn, not 
crowded, but just where it seemed natural to 
find them, were rosebushes of different varie- 
ties, that waited patiently all winter for the ap- 
preciation of their beauty which summer was 
[ 63 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


sure to bring, and among them were some of 
the kinds Mrs. Brady had loved in the Eastern 
home of her girlhood. 

One stepped out from the south door of the 
sitting-room to find narrow beds for all sorts 
of summer blooms hugging the house, and 
looked about to see farther on occasional other 
beds. Everything was represented in her 
flower garden, from sweet alyssum and 
mignonette to roses and lilies, just as a little 
of all sweet qualities mingled themselves 
in her disposition. She was no longer young, 
and she had come to be quite frail. 

“ I hope he will come,” she said, as she let 
herself in at the front door. 

From the shanty she had come the back 
way, a part of which followed the railroad 
track, and the walk had not been very long, 
but wearily she sank down to rest. 

“ He ’s such a handy boy,” she thought. 
“ If he should n’t come ! ” 

[ 64 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


And down at the shanty Mrs. O’Callaghan, 
as she washed vigorously for her boys, was 
thinking, too. 

“ It ’s wishin’ I am ’t was avenin’,” she cried 
at last, “and then ’t would be off my mind, so 
’t would. I can’t tell no more than nothin’ 
what Pat’ll be sayin’. And what’s worse, I 
can’t tell what I want him to be sayin’. ’T is 
the best I want him to be doin’, but what ’s the 
best ? If he don’t go, there ’s a chance gone 
of earnin’ what we need. And if he does go, 
I ’ll be at my wit’s ends to kape him from 
settlin’ that Jim Barrows. It’s widows as 
has their trials whin they’ve sivin b’ys on 
their hands, and all of ’em foine wans at 
that.” 

It was a very uncertain day. Cloud fol- 
lowed sunshine, and a sprinkle of rain the 
cloud, over and over again. 

“ Sure an’ the weather an’ me ’s loike as two 
peas the day. We’re nayther of us to be 

[ 65 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN^S BOYS 


depinded on, so we ain’t, not knowin’ what 
we want. Look at my clothes not dryin’ an’ 
me a-£rettin’. What ’s the use of it all ? Let 
Pat do as he will, I ’ll think no more of it.” 

The little woman was capable. She could 
work; she could control her boys, though 
sometimes, when it seemed best, she could give 
control of them into their own hands, and she 
could govern her thoughts with some measure 
of success. So, casting her worries behind 
her, she went about brightly and cheerily as if 
nothing of an anxious nature lay before her, 
amusing Larry with chatter suited to his years, 
and making him contented to stay indoors 
while she toiled. For Mrs. O’Callaghan was 
as young as her youngest child, and as old as 
her oldest. It was easy for the boys to get 
close to mother. Only once did her mind 
revert to the forbidden theme. Dinner was 
over and she stood watching Pat, who was fast 

disappearing on his way to school. 

[ 66 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“There’s toimes to be spakin’, and 
toimes to be kapin’ still,” she said. “Niver 
a word must I be sayin’ till the rest of ’em ’s 
abed, and it ’s hard waitin’, so it is. It ’s 
my belafe that ’s what makes some b’ys 
so unruly — takin’ ’em at the wrong toime. 
Sure and b’ys has their feelin’s loike the 
rest of the world. Spake to ’em by their 
lone silves when you ’ve aught to say to 
’em. There ’s niver a man of ’em all, not 
even Gineral Brady himsilf, would loike 
bein’ bawled at in a crowd about somethin’ 
that needed thinkin’ over. And Gineral 
Brady ’s the foine man, too. Big and straight 
he walks, a-wearin’ his plug hat, and old and 
young is plazed to meet him. Well, his 
business is done. There ’s no more foightin’. 
But he was a brave foighter ! My Tim 
saw him at it more’n wanst. Tim was a 
long way behind the Gineral, but Tim, he 
done his duty, too. Sure some has to be 

[ 67 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


behoind, and if that ’s your place, ‘ Make 
that place respicted,’ says I.” 

She turned from the door and went back 
to her work. 

“There ’s some as thinks the Gineral has 
a business,” she went on. “There’s them 
that calls him a banker. But what sort of 
a business is that now.^^ Jist none at all. 
xAll he does is to take in the money, and 
put it in a safe place where nobody won’t 
steal it, and hand it out again when it ’s 
needed, and lend a little now and then to 
somebody that wants it and is loikely to 
be payin’ it back again. Anybody could 
do that. There ’s no work to it. And, by 
the same token, it ’s no business. When the 
war was over, the Gineral’s business was 
done, I say, and it ’s hopin’ I am it ’ll soon 
be evenin’, for I ’m wantin’ to hear what 
Pat ’ll say.” 

It was, in the main, a quiet supper at the 
[ 68 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


shanty, and, for the most part, a silent eve- 
ning. One by one the boys went to bed, 
and Pat and his mother were left alone. 

“Pat,” began Mrs. O’Callaghan, in a 
tremble of eagerness and apprehension, “ who 
do you think was here the mornin’ ? ” 

“ Sure and I could n’t guess, mother dear. 
You ’ll have to be tellin’ me. ” 

“And so I will,” was the prompt reply. 
“’T was Mrs. Gineral Brady, then. And 
she loikes your work that well, Pat, she 
wants you to go to her house to live.” 

At first the boy looked bewildered. Then 
a light of understanding flashed over his 
face, and he flushed as if with shame. To 
go out to service like a girl ! He could n’t 
do it, and he would n’t. But even in his 
fierce young indignation he restrained him- 
self. He had suffered so much of late that 
he was growing very careful about inflicting 
suffering upon others, especially upon his 

[ 69 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


mother. He covered his eyes with his hand 
and sat quite still for a few moments before 
he inquired, “What did you tell her?” 

“I told her I’d ask you, Pat. Only 
that. ” 

The boy wheeled round in the old Wind- 
sor chair in which he sat, threw his 
arms over the top of its back, and buried his 
face. They had been in town now six weeks. 
Pat had learned by his experience in cooking 
how fast supplies went in a large family. 
Two weeks before, the generous contribu- 
tions of their country neighbors had given 
entirely out, and Pat, as marketer, had 
learned how much money it took to buy 
with. Four dollars a week would not, could 
not, support the family even in summer-time. 
Hard knowledge was this for a boy of fifteen 
to have, and hardly had it been learned. 
If he went, there was Jim Barrows and his 
set with more jeers and insults which he 

[ 70 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


must not avenge. If he did not go — all 
at once he remembered that ride home from 
Wennott with his mother, when he had 
asked her what he could do and what Mike 
could do to help. Was this the answer.? 
Was he to live out like a girl, and Mike to 
take his place with the work at home P 

He lifted his face, and his blue eyes had 
a pleading look that went to the widow’s 
heart. “Mother, tell me what I must do,” 
he said. 

“I can’t, Pat dear. You must say for 
yoursilf. ” 

There was loving sympathy in look and 
tone, but the little woman’s determination 
was clear. Pat must decide for himself. 
And the^young head went down again. 

Ten long minutes went by before Pat 
spoke again, and his voice had a muffled 
sound, for his face was not lifted. “Mother, 

are you willin’.?” he asked. 

[ 71 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“I am, Pat, my son.” 

Heavier the dreadful prospect pressed upon 
him. He could trust his mother, and she 
was willing. Then it must be right. 

More minutes went by. Pat had a tell- 
tale voice. Clear and musical, it had ever 
revealed to the mother the heart of her son. 
And its sadness and submission smote upon 
her as he said at last, “You may tell her 
I ’ll go, mother.” 

“ I always knowed you was brave, Pat,” 
said Mrs. O’Callaghan. Then a rough little 
hand was laid on his head — the hand of 
an honest washerwoman — and in a reverent 
tone came the words, “Your father was 
brave.” 

The boy looked up gratefully. To be 
likened to his father was dear to him. 

“Yes, Pat,” went on Mrs. O’Callaghan. 
“Most anybody can take a noice payin’ 

job as suits ’em, but it ’s the brave wans 
[ 72 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


that takes the work they don’t want to do, 
and does it good, too.” 

And then the mother who had the courage 
to battle cheerfully for her children, and 
the son who had the courage to do what 
seemed best in the face of contempt and 
ridicule, went to their rest. 


[ 73 ] 


CHAPTER VI 


The next morning Pat stepped out into 
the kitchen and donned his apron in a down- 
cast mood. The uplift of his mother’s praise 
had passed, and the fact remained that to- 
day he was to go out to service like a girl. 
The little boys were up and stowed here and 
there waiting for breakfast. Some little boys 
cannot be kept in bed mornings as long as 
their elders could wish, and the widow’s 
little boys were of that kind. 

“Get up, if you want to,” was Mrs. 
O’Callaghan’s counsel to her youngest sons, 
“but see to it you don’t get under Pat’s feet. 
Nayther must you be runnin’ out doors, 
for Moike to be haulin’ you in when break- 
fast ’s ready.” 

These orders shut the little fellows into 

[ 74 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


a narrow space, and they were always eager 
for the morning meal to be over. Andy 
and Jim were not in such a hurry to rise, 
having reached the age when boys need a 
deal of persuasion to get them up. 

“They ’ll be along in a minute,” thought 
the widow. “Here comes Moike.” 

Along they were in a minute, as their 
mother had predicted. The little woman 
was fond of effect. “There ’s toimes when 
it’s the thing to spake before ’em all,” she 
thought. “This is wan of ’em. Pat needs 
heartenin’ a bit.” 

Then with an air of authority she said 
“Pat, off with your apron!” 

The rest were eyes and ears at once, as 
their mother meant they should be, but Pat 
only stared in surprise. Some way he felt 
stupid this morning. 

“Off with your apron,” repeated Mrs. 
O’Callaghan, “ and sit you down in the 

[ 75 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


father’s chair. I get the breakfast this 
mornin’.” 

With a shamefaced blush Pat obeyed, 
amid the wondering looks of his brothers. 

“You’ll be sayin’ farewell to Pat this 
mornin’,” went on the widow, her glance 
travelling from one to another. “ It ’s lavin’ 
us he is to go to Gineral Brady’s to live. 
’T is hard toimes we ’ve been havin’, and 
harder ’s before us. Pat seen it, and he ’s 
a-goin’ to help. He ’ll be gettin’ his board 
and he ’ll still be goin’ to school.” 

At this Pat started. 

“ Did you think I ’d be willin’ for you to 
lave school, my son.?” asked the mother 
tenderly. 

Then turning to the rest once more, 
“And it’s a dollar a week he’ll be gettin’ 
besides. He ’s his father’s son, and he ’s 
got a head older than his years, or he ’d 
niver ’a’ been the brave b’y he is, nor seen 

[ 76 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


nothin’ to be brave about, nayther. And 
he ’ll be cornin’ to ‘Visit us when Mrs. Brady 
can spare him, and that ’ll be when his 
work ’s done, of course ; and always he sits 
in his father’s chair.” 

Redder and redder flushed Pat’s cheeks, 
seeing which the widow adroitly drew the 
general attention to her second son. 

“And here ’s the chance for Moike,” 
she said, going busily on with her work. 
“Will you be makin’ the beds and kapin’ 
things shinin’ and doin’ the cookin’ for us 
all.?” 

“You know I will, mother.” 

The little woman smiled. “Sure and I 
knowed you would. I jist asked you. 

“Now, b’ys, there’s what they call per- 
motions. Often and often have I heard 
your father spake of ’em. We ’re havin’ 
some of ’em this mornin’. Pat, he goes to 
earnin’ money and his board. That gives 

[ 77 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Moike a chance to step up into his place, 
do you see ? That ’s what permotions is 
for, I ’m thinkin’ — to give the wans behoind 
you a chance. Always step up when you 
honestly can, b’ys, if for no other reason, to 
give the wan behoind you a chance. There ’s 
no tellin’ what he can do till he gets a chance, 
do you see.^^ Tim, he wouldn’t ’a’ stayed 
foightin’ a private if the wan ahead of him 
had only done his duty and stepped up. 
But some folks niver does their duty, and 
it ’s hopin’ I am you ’ll none of you be loike 
’em. It ’s a noice place Pat ’s goin’ to, so 
’t is. There ’s a queer little house with a 
glass roof on jist across the street from it, 
and, by the same token, it ’s a wonder how 
they can kape a glass roof on it. There ’s 
them that can’t even kape their window 
glass in, so there is, but goes a-stuffin’ up 
the holes with what they can get. It ’s full 
of plants, so ’t is, a sort of a garden house, 

[ 78 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


where they sells flowers for weddin’s and 
funerals and such, and maybe Pat ’ll be 
showin’ you through it some day when he 
gets acquainted. I ’m told anybody can see 
it. Grane house, I belave they calls it, but 
why anybody should call a garden house a 
grane house I can’t tell, for sure and it ’s 
not a bit of a grane idea to sell flowers if you 
can And them that has the money to buy 
em. 

At this, quiet Andy, who was fond of his 
book, glanced up. “Maybe they call it 
greenhouse because it ’s full of green things,” 
he said. 

The widow nodded two or three times 
in a convinced manner. “To be sure. 
That’s the reason,” she said. “And it’s 
proud I am to have for my third son a b’y 
that can give the reasons of things. And 
there ’s another permotion we was forgettin’. 
Andy ’ll take Moike’s place, so he will, and 

[ 79 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


look after the little b’ys. A b’y that can 
give reasons can look after ’em wonderful, 
so he can, if he don’t get so full of his reasons 
that he forgets the little b’ys entoirely. But 
Andy ’ll not be doin’ that. I niver told you 
before, but your father’s favorite brother was 
named Andy, and a great wan he was for 
reasons, as I ’ve heard. 

“Now breakfast’s ready, so ’t is. I took 
my toime to it, for permotions always takes 
toime. There ’s them that wants permotion 
in such a hurry that they all but knocks 
over the wans in front of ’em. And that ’s 
bad, so ’t is. And no way at all, nayther. 
Jist kape yoursilf ready to step, and when 
the toime comes step aisy loike a gintleman, 
and then folks rej’ices with you, instead of 
feelin’ of their bumps and wonderin’ at your 
impudence. And the worst of them koind 
of tryin’s after permotions is that it hurts 

them behoind you, for they ’re jist a-breathin’ 
[ 80 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


aisy, do you see, when back you come a- 
tumblin’ a-top of ’em, and lucky you are 
if you don’t go past ’em, and land nobody 
knows where.” 

Seldom were the little boys so deluged 
with wisdom beyond their power of com- 
prehension, but this was a special occasion, 
and as the general effect of the widow’s 
remarks was to stir up in all a determination 
to do their best just where they were, her 
aim had been accomplished. Pat, in par- 
ticular, was encouraged. Perhaps he was 
in line of promotion. He hoped it might 
come soon. 

“Now, Moike,” cried Mrs. O’Callaghan 
when Pat was gone, “here’s a chance for 
you. It ’s lucky I am to be at home the 
day. I ’ll be teachin’ you a bit of all sorts, 
so I will, for you ’ve everything to larn, 
Moike, and that ’s the truth, barrin’ the 

lav of the tracks, and the switches, and the 
[ 81 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


empty cars a-standin’ about, and how to 
kape the little b’ys from hurtin’ thimsilves.” 

Mike looked rather disheartened. 

“You niver let ’em get hurted wanst, 
did you, Moike ? And that ’s doin’ well, too. 
I hope Andy ’ll be comin up to you in that.” 

So encouragingly did his mother smile 
upon him as she said these last words that 
he visibly brightened. He was not tall and 
slender like Pat, but rather short and of a 
sturdy build. And he tied on his apron 
with determination in his eye. 

“Do you know what you look loike, 
Moike.?” 

The boy glanced at her inquiringly. 

“You look loike you was goin’ to make 
short work of your lamin’ and come up to 
Pat before you know it. I niver knowed 
a b’y to get the worst of it that looked that 
way out of his eye. It ’s a sort of ‘do it I 

will, and let them stop me that can’ look, 
[ 82 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Moike dear. Not that anybody wants to 
stop you, and it ’s an ilegant look, too, as 
I ’ve often seen on your father’s face when 
he had a hard job ahead of him.” 

By this time Mike was ready for anything. 
He really knew more than his mother gave 
him credit for, having furtively watched Pat 
more than once. 

“Well, well, Moike!” exclaimed Mrs. 
O’Callaghan when the last bed was made. 
“That’s a sight better as Pat’s first try at 
bed-makin’. If he was here he ’d say that 
was n’t so bad nayther, and it ’s yoursilf as 
knows Pat ’s an ilegant bed-maker. If you ’d 
seen him astonishin’ Mrs. Gineral Brady 
you ’d ’a’ seen a sight now. I was proud 
that day.” 

Mike smiled with satisfaction and reached 
for the broom. His mother said nothing, 
but not a move escaped her critical eye. As 

far as the beds could be moved, they were 
[ 83 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


moved, and around them and under them 
went Mike’s busy broom. Mike was warm- 
blooded, and it was a pretty red-faced boy 
that stood at last before his mother with 
the dustpan in his hand. There was strong 
approval on the little woman’s face. 

“Pat himsilf could n’t ’a’ beat that. It ’s 
my belafe you ’ve got a gift for swapin’,” 
she said. “I can leave home to go to my 
washin’ with an aisy mind, I see, and with 
no fears of chance callers foindin’ dirty 
floors and mussy-lookin’ beds a-disgracin’ 
me. If widows is iver lucky, which I doubt, 
Moike, I ’m lucky this far. I ’ve got some 
wonderful foine sons, so I have.” 

Mike, at this, beamed with the con- 
sciousness that he was one of the sons, and 
a fully appreciated one, too. A long time 
he had stood in the shadow of Pat’s achieve- 
ments. This morning he was showing what 
he could do. 


[ 84 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“This permotion is pretty foine,” said 
Mrs. O’Callaghan. “Moike, my b’y, you 
have stepped up aisy loike a gintleman into 
Pat’s place, and now let’s see you cook.” 

Mike looked crestfallen at once. “ I can’t 
cook, mother,” he said. “Not the least in 
the world. Often and often I ’ve watched 
Pat, but I never could get the hang of it.” 

The widow was silent a moment. 

“Well, then!” she cried, “you ’ve got the 
hang of bein’ an honest b’y, and not pre- 
tindin’ to do what you can’t do, and that ’s 
better as bein’ the best cook in the world. 
Niver do you pretind, Moike, not because 
there ’s always somebody about to foind you 
out, but because pretindin’s mean. I ’d have 
no pride left in me if I could think I had a 
pretindin’ b’y about the house. And now, 
Moike, I ’ll teach you to cook. It ’s my 
belafe you can larn it. Why, Pat did n’t 

know nothin’ about it when he begun, and 
[ 85 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


now he can cook meat and potatoes and such 
better as many a doless girl I Ve seen. You 
think Pat’s cookin’ tastes pretty good, don’t 
you, Moike.?” 

“I do, mother,” said Mike earnestly, and 
without a tinge of jealousy in his tone. He 
loved and admired Pat with all his heart. 

“You can larn it, too, if you only think 
so,” encouraged Mrs. O’Callaghan. 

“There ’s them that thinks that cookin’ ’s 
a special gift, and they ’re right, too. But 
there ’s things about cookin’ that anybody 
can attind to, such as havin’ kettles and pans 
clean, and kapin’ the fire up when it ’s needed, 
and not roastin’ a body’s brains out when 
it ain’t needed. Yes, and there ’s other 
things,” she continued, with increasing earnest- 
ness. “There’s them as thinks if they’ve 
a book or paper stuck about handy, and 
them a-poppin’ down to read a bit ivery now 

and then, it shows that cookin’ ’s beneath 
[ 86 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


’em. And then the meat burns or it sogs 
and gets tough, the potatoes don’t get the 
water poured off of ’em in toime, and things 
biles over on the stove or don’t bile at all, 
at all, and what does all that show, Moike.? 
Not that they ’re above cookin’, but that 
they ’re lackin’ in sinse, for a sinsible per- 
son always pays attintion to what they ’re 
at, but a silly is lookin’ all ways but the 
right wan, and ten to wan but if you looked 
inside their skulls you ’d foind ’em that 
empty it would astonish you. Not that 
I ’m down on readin’, but that readin’ and 
cookin’ had n’t ought to be mixed. Now, 
Moike, if any of these things I ’ve been 
tellin’ you of happens to your cookin’, you ’ll 
know where to put the blame. Don’t say, 
‘I wasn’t made to cook, I guess.’ That’s 
what I wanst heard a silly say when she ’d 
burnt the dinner. But jist understand that 
your wits must have been off a piece, and 

[ 87 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


kape ’em by you nixt toime. But what ’s 
that n’ise?” 

She stepped to the door. A short dis- 
tance off Jim was trying to get something 
away from Barney, who was making up in 
roars what he lacked in strength. Up went 
Mrs. O’Callaghan’s hands to curve around 
her mouth and form a speaking trumpet. 

“Jim, come here!” she called. 

Jim began to obey, and his mother, 
leaving Mike inside to think over her remarks 
on cooking, stood waiting for his lagging 
feet. 

“Well, Jim,” she said, when he stood 
before her, “ it ’s ashamed of you I am, and 
that ’s the truth. A big b’y loike you, noine 
years old, a-snatchin’ something from little 
Barney, and him only sivin ! It ’s my belafe 
your father niver snatched nothin’ from no- 
body.” 

At this Jim’s countenance fell, for, in 
[ 88 ] 



Jim was trying to get something away from Barney 





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^ ' J 4 I * • 



THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


common with all his brothers, he shared a 
strong desire to be like his father. 

“You may go now, but remember you’ll 
be takin’ Andy’s place some day, a-carin’ 
for the little wans.” 

The idea of taking Andy’s place, even 
at so indefinite a period as sometime, quite 
took the edge off his mother’s rebuke, and 
Jim went stepping off with great importance. 

“ Jim !” she called again, and the boy came 
back. 

“That ’s a terrible swagger you ’ve got 
on you, Jim. Walk natural. Your father 
was niver wan of the swaggerin’ sort. And 
jist remember that takin’ care of the little 
b’ys ain’t lordin’ it over ’em nayther.” 


[ 89 ] 


CHAPTER VII 


“If I ’m goin’, I may as well go,” thought 
Pat, as he left his mother’s door on that 
mid-April Saturday morning. And away 
he went on the railroad track at a rapid 
pace that did not give him much time to 
think. 

It was the General himself who answered 
his knock, that had a strange mixture of 
the bold and the timid. The General had 
been listening for that knock. He had been 
wondering what sort of a boy it was who was 
willing to go out by the day to do housework. 
The knock told him. “He hates to come, 
but he comes, nevertheless,” thought the 
General. And he arose and opened the 
door. 

He looked into the boy’s face and he 

[ 90 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


saw a determined mouth and pleading 
eyes. 

“Grit,” thought the General. But he 
only said, “Come in, my boy.” 

“Yes, sir, if you please, sir, will you be 
tellin’ Mrs. General Brady that I ’m here, 
sir?'" was Pat’s answer as, with flushing 
cheeks, he stepped awkwardly into the room. 
What a flne, soldierly bearing the General had, 
and how he must despise a boy who could 
turn himself into a girl ! 

“Sit down, Pat,” said the General, pleas- 
antly. “That’s your name, isn’t it.^^ I’ll 
tell Mrs. Brady presently.” 

Pat sat down. He could not imagine 
the General with an apron on doing house- 
work, though that was what he was trying 
to do while he sat there with cheeks that grew 
redder and more red. 

“Mrs. Brady tells me you are excellent 
help, Pat,” went on the General. 

[ 91 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Yes, sir,” stammered Pat. 

“Have you come to stay, or just for the 
day.?” 

The boy’s eyes were almost beseeching 
as he answ.ered, “I’ve come to stay, sir.” 
What would the General think of him now.? 

“I suppose you like housework, then.?” 

“ No, sir,” came the answer in a low tone. 
“ But father ’s gone, and there ’s mother 
and the boys, and there ’s no work for boys 
in Wennott unless they turn themselves into 
girls.” 

“Better turn into a girl than into a tough 
from loafing on the streets, Pat,” said the 
General heartily, as he rose from his chair. 
“I ’ll tell Mrs. Brady you are here.” 

There was not so much in what the genial 
master of the house had said, but Pat’s head 
lifted a little. Perhaps the General did not 
despise him after all. 

“I’ve good news for you, Fannie,” said 

[ 92 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the General, as he entered the dining-room. 
“Your boy has come, and come to stay.” 

“O has he.^^ I’m so glad.” And she 
smiled her pleasure. “ He ’s such a nice 
boy.” 

“ He ’s a brave boy,” said her husband 
with emphasis. “That boy has the grit 
of a hero. He may come into our kitchen 
for a time, but, please God, he sha’n’t stay 
there. I know what he will have to take 
from those street boys for doing the best he 
can for his mother and younger brothers, 
and he knows it, too. I saw it in his face 
just now. The boy that has the moral 
courage to face insult and abuse deserves 
to rise, and he shall rise. But, bless me ! 
I ’m getting rather excited over it, I see.” 
And he smiled. 

“Perhaps, Tom, you could shield him 
a little in the street,” suggested Mrs. Brady. 

“I’ll do my best, my dear.” And then 

[ 93 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the General went away to his bank, and Mrs. 
Brady went into the kitchen to see Pat. 

Pat was sensitive. There was something 
in the General’s manner as he left him, some- 
thing in Mrs. Brady’s tones as she directed 
him, that restored his self-respect. 

“If only I never had to be goin’ on the 
street till after dark, ’t would n’t be so bad,” 
thought Pat. “But there’s school, and 
there ’s Jim Barrows. I ’ll just have to 
stand it, that ’s what I will. Mother says 
I ’m brave, but it ’s not very brave inside 
I ’m feelin’. I ’d run if I could.” 

But Pat was to learn some day, and learn 
it from the General’s lips, that the very 
bravest men have been men who wanted 
to run and would n't. 

At General Brady’s there was light lunch 
at noon and dinner at five, which was some- 
thing Pat had already become accustomed 
to from having to do his own family cooking 

[ 94 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


for the last six weeks. He was pretty well 
used to hurrying home the moment the after- 
noon session of school was over to prepare 
the meal of the day for his hungry brothers 
and his tired mother. On Monday, there- 
fore, he came flying into the Brady kitchen 
at fifteen minutes of five. There was the 
dinner cooking, with no one to watch it. 
Where was Mrs. Brady Pat did not stop 
to inquire. His own experience told him 
that that dinner needed immediate attention. 

Down went his books. He flew to wash 
his hands and put on his apron. He turned 
the water off the potatoes in a jiffy. “Sure 
and I have just saved ’em, and that’s all!” 
he cried, as he put them to steam dry. 

“I ’ll peep in the oven, so I will,” he said. 
“That roast needs bastin’, so it does.” 

He heard the General come in. 

“There’s a puddin’ in the warm oven,” 
he continued, “but I don’t know nothin’ 

[ 95 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


about that. It ’s long since we ’ve had pud- 
din’ at home. I ’ll just dress the potatoes 
and whip ’em up light. I can do that any- 
way, and give the roast another baste. It ’s 
done, and I ’ll be settin’ it in the warm oven 
along with the puddin’. For how do I know 
how Mrs. Brady wants her gravy.? Where 
is she, I wonder.?” 

“Why, Pat,” said a surprised voice, “can 
you cook.?” 

“Not much, ma’am,” answered Pat with 
a blush. “But I can sometimes keep other 
people’s cookin’ from spoilin’.” 

“Well said!” cried the General, who 
was determined to make Pat feel at ease. 
“Fannie, give me an apron, and I’ll make 
the gravy. I used to be a famous hand at 
it in the army.” 

Pat stared, and then such a happy look 
came into his eyes that the General felt a 
little moisture in his own. 

[ 96 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“How that boy has been suffering!” 
he said to himself. 

“I was detained by a caller,” explained 
Mrs. Brady. “The dinner would surely have 
been spoiled if Pat had not come just when 
he did.” 

And then Pat’s cup was full. He blushed, 
he beamed. Here was the General, the 
man whom his mother had held up to Pat’s 
admiration, with an apron on, cooking ! And 
Mrs. Brady said that he had saved the dinner. 

“Let Jim Barrows say what he likes,” 
he thought. “I ’d not like to be eatin’ any 
of his cookin’.” 

Cooking had risen in Pat’s estimation. 

“She asked me, ‘Will you please not be 
nickin’ or crackin’ the dishes, Pat.^’ And 
says I, ‘ I ’ll be careful, Mrs. Brady. ’ But 
I wonder what makes ’em have these thin 
sort of dishes. I never seen none like ’em 
nowhere else.” 


[ 97 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Dinner was over and Pat was alone in 
the kitchen. 

“But the General makin’ the gravy was 
fine, and sure I never tasted no better gravy 
neither. I wish I could just be lettin’ ’em 
know at home. Mike will have to be turnin’ 
into a girl, too, one of these days, and it 
might ease him a bit if he could know the 
General was n’t above cookin’. My mother 
said I ’d be cornin’ to visit ’em when my 
work was done, if Mrs. Brady could spare 
me. 

A half-hour later a trim-looking boy 
presented himself at the sitting-room 
door. 

“Come in, Pat,” invited the General, 
looking up from his paper with a smile. 

Pat smiled back again, but it was to 
Mrs. Brady that he turned as he entered 
the room. 

“Mrs. Brady, ma’am,” he said, “the 

[ 98 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


dishes are done and the kitchen made neat. 
Will you have me to be doin’ something 
more for you this evenin’ 

“No, Pat,” replied Mrs. Brady, kindly. 
“Your work for to-day is done. You may 
take off your apron.” 

“Yes, ma’am. Would you kindly be let- 
tin’ me go home a little while then.^^” 

Pat’s look was eager, but submissive. 

“Certainly, Pat,” was the reply. “Take 
the kitchen key with you.” 

“Thank you, kindly, ma’am,” returned 
Pat, gratefully. And with another smile for 
the General, who had not resumed his reading, 
the boy left the room, and, shortly after, 
the house. 

“Listen!” cried Mrs. O’Callaghan, with 
uplifted finger. And the rollicking talk about 
her ceased on the instant. 

“ ’T is Pat’s step I hear outside, and 

LOfft 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


here he is, sure enough. Now, b’ys, don’t 
all of you be on him at wanst. Let him sit 
down in the father’s chair.” 

Pat, feeling the honor paid him, and 
showing that he felt it, sat down. The little 
boys crowded around him with their news. 
Jim and Andy got as near to him as they 
could for furniture, while Mike looked at 
him from the farther side of the tiny room 
with a heart full of love and admiration in 
his eyes. They had not seen Pat since 
Saturday morning except at school that day, 
and that was not like having him at home 
with them. 

“And how does your work come on.^^” 
asked his mother, as soon as she could get in 
a word. 

“Fine,” said Pat. “’Tis an elegant 
place.” Then, with an air that tried hard 
to be natural, he added, “The General 

himself made the gravy to-day.” 

[ 100 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“What!” exclaimed his mother. “The 
Gineral !” 

“He did,” said Pat. “He put on one of 
Mrs. Brady’s aprons, and ’t was fine gravy, 
too.” 

The widow looked her astonishment. 
“And do you call that foine.?” she demanded 
at last. “The Gineral havin’ to make his 
own gravy.? What was you a-doin’, Pat.?” 

“I was helpin’ Mrs. Brady with the pud- 
din’ sauce and dishin’ up. ’T was behind 
we all was, owin’ to a caller, and Mrs. Brady 
said if it had n’t been for me the dinner 
would have been spoiled sure. I got there 
just in time.” 

“The Gineral,” said Mrs. O’Callaghan, 
looking about her impressively, “is the hand- 
somest and the foinest gintleman in the 
town. Iverybody says so. And the Gineral 
ain’t above puttin’ an apron on him and 

makin’ gravy. Let that be a lesson to you 
[ 101 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 

all. The war ’s over. You ’ll none of you 
iver be ginerals. But you can all make 
gravy, so you can.” 

“When, mother, when.?^” asked Barney 
and Tommie eagerly, who saw at once that 
gravy would be a great improvement on 
mud pies, their only culinary accomplish- 
ment at present. 

“When.?” repeated the widow. “All in 
good toime, to be sure. Pat will be givin’ 
Moike the Gineral’s receipt, and the b’y 
that steps into Moike’s place — and that ’ll 
be Andy, I ’m thinkin’ — he ’ll larn it of 
Moike, and so on, do you see.?” 

“And I was just thinkin’,” put in Pat, 
with an encouraging glance at Mike, “that 
Jim Barrows’s cookin’ was like to be poor 
eatin’.” 

“True for you, my b’y!” exclaimed the 
widow. “The idea of that Jim Barrows 

a-cookin’ niver struck me before. But, as 
[ 102 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


you say, no doubt T would be poor. Them 
that ’s not above nignaggin’ the unfortunate 
is apt to be thinkin’ themsilves above cookin’, 
and if they tried it wanst, no doubt their 
gravy would be a mixture of hot water and 
scorch, with, like enough, too little salt in 
it if it did n’t have too much, and full of 
lumps besides. ’T is your brave foightin’ 
men and iligant gintlemen loike the Gineral 
that makes the good gravy.” 


[ 103 ] 


CHAPTER VIII 


“Pat, I forgot to give Mr. Brady the 
list of things that I want sent up this morning.” 

Pat looked up from his dishwashing sym- 
pathetically, for there was perplexity in the 
kindly tone and on the face no longer young. 

It was always a mystery to the boy why 
Mrs. Brady called her husband “Mr. Brady” 
when everybody else said “General Brady.” 

“But it ’s none of my business, of course,” 
he told himself. 

It was Saturday morning. 

“Do you think you could go down, Pat, 
when the dishes are finished.^” 

“Indeed, and I can, that, ma’am,” re- 
turned Pat heartily. 

“Do so, then,” was the reply. And Mrs. 
Brady walked away with a relieved air. 

[ 104 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“I’m ready, ma’am,” announced Pat, 
coming to the sitting-room door a little later. 
“Will you be havin’ me to take the list to 
General Brady, or will you be havin’ me to be 
® doin’ the buyin’ myself 

Mrs. Brady thought a moment. Her 
husband very much disliked marketing. If 
Pat should prove as capable in that direction 
as in every other, the General would be 
saved what was to him a disagreeable task. 
She resolved to try him. So she said, “You 
may do the buying yourself, Pat.” 

“Thank you kindly, ma’am,” answered 
Pat, respectfully. 

“Do you like to buy things.?” asked 
Mrs. Brady, surprised at the expression of 
anticipated pleasure on the boy’s face. 

“I don’t like nothin’ better, ma’am. 
’T was but a taste I ’d got of it before I left 
home. Mike does our buyin’ now. Buyin’ ’s 
next best to sellin’, we both think.” 

[ 105 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


He took the list Mrs. Brady held out 
and ran his eye over it. “I ’ll be takin’ 
my basket and bring the little things home 
myself,” he said. “Would you believe it, 
ma’am, some of them delivery boys is snoopy, 
I ’ve been told. Not all of ’em, of course, 
but some of ’em just. Now raisins, you ’ve 
got here. ‘Raisins is mighty good, but let 
’em buy their own,’ says I. And don’t 
you be doin’ nothin’ but restin’, ma’am, 
while I ’m gone. If I ’m off enjoyin’ myself 
’t ain’t fair as you should be up here a-workin’. 
There ’s not much to be done anyway, but 
I ’ll get through with it,” he ended with a 
smile. 

Away went Pat, stepping jauntily with 
his basket on his arm. It was the first of 
June, and Wennott, embowered in trees, 
was beautiful. He had almost reached the 
square before he thought, “She never told 

me where to go. I can’t be wastin’ my 
[ 106 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


time goin’ back. I ’ll just step into the bank 
and ask the General.” 

Pat loved the General. A woman’s apron 
was the bond that bound the poor Irish boy 
to the fine old soldier, and it was with the 
smile that the boy kept exclusively for him 
that he stepped in at the open door of the 
bank. 

The General was engaged, but he found 
time to answer the smile and to say in his 
most genial tone, ‘‘In a moment, Pat.” 

He was soon at liberty, and then he said, 
“Now, Pat, what is it.^^” 

“Please, sir, have you any one place 
where you want me to be tradin’, or am I 
to buy where the goods suit me.^” 

“Are you doing the marketing to-day, 
Pat?” 

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Brady give me leave.” 

“And what is your own idea about 


trading?” 


[ 107 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Buy where you can do the best for the 
money, sir,” was the prompt reply. 

The banker looked at him thoughtfully. 
He had the key to Pat’s future now. He 
knew along what line to push him, for he 
was determined to push Pat. And then he 
said, “Buy where you think best. But did 
Mrs. Brady give you money 

“She did, sir. This creditin’ is poor 
business. Show ’em your money, and they ’ll 
do better by you every time.” 

The General listened in so interested a 
manner that Pat added, “ It ’s because the 
storemen can get all the creditin’ they want 
to do, and more, too, but them as steps up 
with the cash, them ’s the ones they ’re 
after.” 

“ And who taught you this, Pat ? ” 

“Sure and my mother told me part of it, 
and part of it I just picked up. But I ’ll 

be goin’ now, or Mrs. Brady will think I ’m 
[ 108 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


never cornin’. She ’ll be teachin’ me to-day 
to make a fine puddin’ for your dinner.” 

The first store Pat went into had already 
several customers. As he entered, the clerks 
saw a tall boy wearing a blouse shirt and 
cottonade trousers, and having on his head 
a broad-brimmed straw hat well set back, 
and they seemed not at all interested in 
him. The basket on his arm was also 
against him. “Some greeny that wants a 
nickel’s worth of beans, I suppose,” said 
one. 

But if the clerks seemed to make little 
of Pat, Pat, for his part, regarded them with 
indifference. The sight of the General mak- 
ing gravy had changed the boy’s whole out- 
look; and he had come to feel that whoever 
concerned himself with Pat O’Callaghan’s 
business was out of his province. Pat was 
growing independent. 

Other customers came in and were 

[ 109 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


waited upon out of their turn, while Pat was 
left unnoticed. 

“That ’s no way to do business,” he 
thought, “but if they can stand it, I can.” 
And he looked about him with a critical air. 
He was not going off in a huff, and perhaps 
missing the chance of buying to advantage 
for the General. At last a clerk drew near 
— a smallish, dapper young fellow of about 
twenty. 

“I ’ll be lookin’ at raisins,” said Pat. 

“How many’ll you have.?” asked the 
clerk, stepping down the store on the inside 
of the counter, while Pat followed on the 
outside. 

“I said I ’d be lookin’ at ’em,” answered 
Pat. “ I do n’t want none of ’em if they 
do n’t suit.” 

The clerk glanced at him a little sharply, 
and then handed out a sample bunch of a 
poor quality. 


[ 110 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Pat did not offer to touch them. 

“They’ll not do,” he said. “Have you 
no better ones I want to see the best ones 
you ’ve got.” 

“What’s the matter with these asked 
the clerk quickly. 

“And how can I tell what’s the matter 
with ’em ? They ’re not the kind for General 
Brady, and that you know as well as I.” 

At the mention of the General’s name 
the clerk pricked up his ears. It would be 
greatly to his credit if, through him, their 
house should catch General Brady’s trade. 
He became deferential at once. But he 
might as well have spared his pains. No 
one, with Pat as buyer, would be able to 
catch or to keep the General’s trade. Who- 
ever offered the best for the money would 
sell to him. 

The boy had the same experience in every 

store he entered, as he went about picking 
[ 111 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


up one article here and another there till all 
were checked off his list. 

“There ’s more ’n me thinks the General 's 
a fine man,” he thought as he went home. 
“There didn’t nobody care about sellin’ 
to me, but they was all after the General’s 
trade, so they was. And now I must hurry, 
for my work ’s a-waitin’ for me, and the 
puddin’ to be learnin’ besides. Would I 
be goin’ back to live off my mother now, and 
her a-washin’ to keep me ? Indeed and 
I would n’t. The meanest thing a boy can be 
doin’, I believe, is to be lettin’ his mother keep 
him if he can get a bit of work of any sort.” 

With his mother’s shrewd counsel back- 
ing him up, and with the General constantly 
before him to be admired and imitated, 
Pat was developing a manly spirit. When 
he went to live with Mrs. Brady, he had 
offered his mother the dollar a week he was 
to receive as wages. 


[ 112 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Sure and I ’ll not be takin’ it, Pat,” said 
the little woman decidedly. 

To-night he had come home again, and 
this time he had brought three dollars with 
him. 

“I told you I ’d not be takin’ it, Pat, and 
I won’t nayther.” Though the widow would 
not touch the coin, she looked lovingly at her 
son and went on, “ It ’s ginerous you are, 
loike your father, but you ’re helpin’ me 
enough when you take your board off my 
hands. You must save your money to buy 
clothes for yoursilf, for you need ’em, Pat 
dear. Mrs. Brady can’t be puttin’ up with 
too badly dressed help. Now do n’t be 
spakin’ yet,” she continued, as she saw him 
about to remonstrate. “ It ’s a shame of 
my own I ’ve got that I want to be tellin’ 
you about, for it ’s a comfort you are to me, 
Pat. Many ’s the mother as can’t say that 
to her oldest son, and all on account of the 

[ 113 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


son bein’ anything but a comfort, do you 
see? But I can say it, Pat, and mean it, 
too. A comfort you are to me.” 

Pat smiled as he listened. 

“Do you know, Pat, pursued his mother 
earnestly, “as I’m goin’ to my washin’ 
places, I goes and comes different ways 
whiniver I can, for what ’s the use of always 
goin’ the same way loike a horse in a tread- 
mill when you do n’t have to ? Course, 
if you have to, that ’s different. 

“Well, Pat, sure there’s an awful lot of 
cows kept in this town. And I ’ve found 
out that most of ’em is put out to pasture 
in Jansen’s pasture north of the railroad. 
It runs north ’most to the cemetery, I ’m 
told. But what of that when the gate ’s 
at this end ? You do n’t have to drive the 
cows no further than the gate, Pat, dear. 
And the gate you almost passes when you ’re 
goin’ to Gineral Brady’s by the back way 

[ 114 ] 


THE WIDOW 0’CALLx\GHAN’S BOYS 


up the track. It ’s not far from us, by no 
manes.” 

Pat’s face expressed surprise. Did his 
mother want him to drive cows in addition 
to his other work.?^ 

“Now, all these cows, Pat,” continued 
his mother impressively, “belongs wan cow 
at a house. I do n’t know but wan house 
where they kapes more, and their own b’ys 
does the drivin’, and that would n’t do us 
no good. The pay is fifty cents a month 
for drivin’ a cow out in the mornin’ and 
drivin’ it back at night, and them drivin’ 
b’ys runs ’em till the folks, many of ’em, 
is wantin’ a different koind of b’ys. Now, 
what if I could get about ten cows, and put 
Andy and Jim to drive ’em turn about, 
wan out and the other back. Would n’t 
that be a good thing ? Five dollars a 
month to put to the sixteen I earn a-washin’, 
and not too hard on the b’ys, nayther. 

[ 115 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Don’t you think’t would be a good thing, 
Pat?” 

“I do, indeed, mother,” answered the 
son approvingly. 

“I knowed you would, and I belave your 
father would. How is it you come to be 
so like him, Pat dear? The blessed angels 
know. But you ’re a comfort to me. And 
now will you help me to get the cows? If 
you could get a riference, I belave they 
calls it, from the Gineral, for we ’re mostly 
strangers yet. You can say you know Andy 
and Jim won’t run the cows.” 

The reference was had from the General 
that very evening, though the old soldier 
could not help smiling to himself over it, 
and the first of the week found Andy and 
Jim trudging daily to and from the pasture. 

It was not without something like a spirit 
of envy that Barney and Tommie saw Jim 

and Andy driving the cows. 

[ 116 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Mother, why can’t we be goin’, too?” 
teased Barney, while Tommie stood by with 
pouting lips. 

“And what for would you be goin’?” 
asked the widow. “Most cows don’t loike 
little b’ys. They knows, does the cows, that 
little b’ys is best off somewhere else than 
tryin’ to drive them about sayin,’ ‘Hi! hi!’ 
and showin’ ’em a stick.” 

The two still showing discontent, she 
continued: “But geese, now, is different. 
And who ’s to be moindin’ the geese, if you 
and Tommie was to go off after the cows? 
Sure geese is more your size than cows, 
I ’m thinkin’, and, by the same token, I hear 
’em a-squakin’ now. What ’s the matter 
with ’em? Go see. Not that anybody iver 
knows what ’s the matter with a goose,” 
he ended, as the little boys chased out of the 
shanty. “It’s for that they’re called geese, 
I should n’t wonder.” 


[ 117 ] 


CHAPTER IX 


There is no whip to ambition like suc- 
cess. Every day the widow thought, and 
toiled, and kept her eyes open for chances 
for her boys. “For, after all,” said she, 
“twenty-one dollars a month is all too small 
to kape six b -ys and mesilf when the winter ’s 
a-comin’, and ’t won’t be twenty-one then 
nayther, for cows ain’t drove to pasture in 
winter.” 

It was the second son who was listening 
this time, and the two were alone in the 
shanty kitchen. 

“The days is long, and* I belave, Moike, 
you could do something else than our own 
housework, with Andy here to look after 
the little b’ys.” 

“ Say what it is, mother dear, and I ’ll 
[ 118 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


do it,” cried Mike, who had been envying 
Pat his chance to earn. 

“Well, then, to be telling you the truth, 
Moike, who should be askin’ me if I knowed 
of a boy to keep his lawn clean this summer 
but the Gineral. Says I, ‘I do, Gineral 
Brady. I ’ll be bold to say my Moike will 
do it.’ So there I ’ve promised for you, 
Moike, and you ’re to have a dollar a month.” 

The boy’s delight at the prospect shone 
in his eyes and his mother went on, “Strong 
and hearty you are Moike, and I ’ve been 
thinkin’ what ’s to hinder you gettin’ other 
lawns with school out next week, and nothin’ 
to bother you.” 

The little woman looked tired and warm. 
She was just home from Thursday’s wash, 
and she sat down wearily on one of the wooden 
chairs. Mike saw it, and, to the boy who 
would be fourteen the next day, there sud- 
denly came a realizing sense of the stay his 

[ 119 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


mother was to the family. He noted with 
anxiety the lines that were deepening on her 
face. “Sit in father’s chair, mother dear,” 
he coaxed. “’Twill rest you more.” 

The widow looked at him with a pleased 
expression creeping over her face. 

“You ’re father and mother both, so you 
are. Sit in father’s chair,” persuaded Mike. 

“No,” she answered, as she rose and went 
over to the seat of honor. “Don’t praise 
me too much. I ’m jist your mother, doin’ 
the best I can for you, though.” 

And she sat down and leaned her head 
against the back of the chair. 

The sturdy figure of the boy began to 
move briskly about. He made up the fire 
and then he slipped out at the door and took 
an observation. No shade anywhere but 
at the east end of the shanty, where the 
building itself threw a shade. He hurried 
in again. 


[ 120 ] 



“ Sit in father’s chair, mother dear, ’ ’ he coaxed 







THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Will you be gettin’ up, mother dear, 
if you please?” 

In surprise she stood up. The strong 
young arms reached past her, lifted the 
chair, and then the boy began to pick his 
way carefully so as not to strike this treasured 
possession against anything. 

“What are you doin’, Moike?” asked 
Mrs. O’Callaghan in astonishment. 

“I ’m takin’ — the chair — outside — 
where — there ’s a cool shade. ’T is too 
hot — for you here where I ’m cookin’.” 

He turned and looked back as he stood 
in the doorway. “Come, mother dear, and 
rest you in the cool.” 

“Moike! Moike!” cried the widow, 
touched by this attention. “ ’T is what your 
father would have done if he was here. 
Always afraid he was, that I would be get- 
tin’ overtired or something. ’T is sweet to 

have his b’y so loike him.” 

[ 121 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Mike’s heart gave a great throb. He 
knew now the taste of that praise that kept 
Pat pushing ahead. “’Tis for Pat to lead 
— he ’s the oldest,” he thought over his 
cooking. “But see if I don’t be lookin’ 
out for mother after this, and makin’ it as 
easy for her as I can. I ’d lug forty chairs 
ten miles, so I would, to have her praise me 
like that.” 

The next morning the widow rose still 
weary. The kitchen was uncomfortably 
warm as a sleeping - place now, but what 
could be done about it? Nothing. 

“It’s all there is, and I won’t be sayin’ 
a word about it, so I won’t,” she thought. 
“I’ll jist tuck Larry in with Moike, and I 
guess I can stand it.” 

Wash-day for the home. She hardly felt 
equal to her task. 

Breakfast was over, but what was Mike 

doing? Not making his beds, nor washing 
[ 122 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


his dishes. He had put on and filled the 
boiler. Now he was carrying out wash 
bench and tubs to the west side of the shanty. 
The west was the shady side of a morning. 
In he came again — this time for the father’s 
chair. 

“ ’T is an iligant breeze there is this 
mornin’,” he cried. “Come out, mother 
dear, and sit in father’s chair. You ’ve got 
a wash-boy this mornin’, so you have, and 
he ’ll need a lot of showin’.” 

He reached for the washboard as he 
ceased, and smiled lovingly on his mother. 

“Moike ! Moike !” cried Mrs. O’Callaghan 
in a trembling tone, “ ’t is sweet to be took 
care of. I hain’t been took care of since 
your father died.” 

“Then ’t is time you was!” answered 
Mike. “And I ’m the boy to do it, too. 
Come out, mother dear.” 

And the mother went out. 

[ 123 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“But there’s your housework, Moike.” 

“That can wait,” was the positive reply. 

“But there ’s your schoolin’.” 

“I’m not goin’ to school to-day. I know 
my lessons. I learnt ’em last night. Will 
I be goin’ to school and sittin’ there all day, 
and you all tired out a-washin’ for us? I 
won’t that.” 

“ Moike, ’t was your father was dreadful 
headstrong when he set out to be. It ’s 
fearin’ I am you ’re loike him there.” 

But the happy light in her eyes was re- 
flected on the face of her son as he answered : 
“It ’s wantin’ I am to be like him in every- 
thing, headstrong and all. I ’m not goin’ 
to school to-day.” 

“And you need n’t, Moike. I ’ll be ownin’ 
to you now I did n’t feel equal to the washin’, 
and that ’s the truth.” 

Mike nodded and went gayly into the 
house for warm water and the clothes. 

[ 124 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“There’s more than one kind of a boy 
needed in a house,” he said to himself. 
“With seven of us mother ought to have 
’em of all kinds. I ’m the one to be aisin’ 
her. I ’m built for it.” And he rolled up 
his shirt sleeves over his strong, muscular 
young arms. 

“Now, be careful,” began Mike’s first 
lesson in washing, “and don’t waste the 
soap and your strength a-tryin’ to get the 
dirt out of the places that ain’t dirty. Rub 
where the rubbin’s needed, and put the soap 
where it ’s wanted. That ’s it. You ’re 
cornin’ on foine.” And the widow resumed 
her seat. 

For a few moments she sat silent in thought. 
Then she said : “ Do you know what ’s 

the matter with this town, Moike.^ All the 
b’ys in it that wants to work at all wants 
to do somethin’ aisy, loike drivin’ a delivery 
wagon. Though the way they drive ’em 

[ 125 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ain’t so aisy on the horses, nayther. There ’s 
a lesson for you, Moike. Them that ’s so 
aisy on themsilves is the very wans to be 
hard on iverything and iverybody. Them 
that ’s got snail’s feet of their own can’t get 
a horse to go fast enough for ’em, specially 
when the horse belongs to somebody else. 
And I ’m jist a-gettin’ my courage up, Moike. 
I belave there ’ll be always something for 
my b’ys to do, because my b’ys will work. 
And if they can’t get b’ys’ work they ’ll do 
girls’ work. Betwane you and me, Moike, 
I ’m proud of Pat. Have you heard the 
news F When school closes he ’s to have 
two dollars a week, and three afternoons out 
all summer. And what do you think Mrs. 
Brady says.^^ She says she hain’t had such 
help since she lived in the East. She says 
she ’s restin’, and she feels ten years younger. 
That ’s your brother’s work, Moike, — makin’ 

a lady like Mrs. Gineral Brady feel ten years 
[ 126 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


younger. If there ’s aught to be ashamed 
of in that, sure ’t would take a ninny to find 
out what it is. I ’ll warrant them delivery 
b’ys’ horses ain’t feelin’ ten years younger, 
anyway.” 

Mike’s face showed that he relished his 
mother’s talk ; seeing which, she went on : 
“You ’re doin’ foine, Moike. Do you know 
there was a girl wanst set to washin’, and 
she had it in her moind to do a good job, 
too. The first thing she got hold of was a 
pillow-case with lace on the ind of it, — 
wide lace. And what does she do but lather 
that clean lace with soap and put in her 
best licks on it, and all to no purpose at all 
only to wear the lace to strings, and then, 
don’t you think, she quite skipped the body 
of the case where the head had been a-layin’.” 

Mike laughed. 

That night as the widow and her boys 
sat outside the door in the cool, quick steps 

[ 127 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


came down the track, crunching the slack 
and cinders that filled the spaces between 
the ties. It was Pat who was coming, and 
his face was anxious. 

“What ails you, mother dear.?” he cried 
lovingly. 

“Why, nothin’, Pat, only I ’ve got some 
sons that spoils me, so I have, a-makin’ 
much of me. ’T is a dreadful complaint, 
ain’t it ? But there ’s mothers as is not 
loike to die of it.” And she laughed half 
tearfully. She had been nearer breaking 
down that morning than she would admit, 
and her nerves were still a little unsteady. 

“Andy told me at recess Mike was stayin’ 
home to wash, and I did n’t know what 
to think. I ’ve been worryin’ about it ever 
since, and the minute my work was done I 
come a-flyin’ to see.” 

“You need n’t worry no more, Pat. Sure, 

and I thought when the chance come for 
[ 128 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


you to go to Mrs. Gineral Brady ’t was 
because the Lord saw our need. And that 
was it, no doubt, but there ’s more to it, 
Pat. You went that I might foind out what 
koind of a b’y Moike is. You moind what 
I told you about permotions, Pat ? ’T was 
your steppin’ up that give Moike his chance 
to show what he could do. And Moike 
was ready for it. Chances don’t do nobody 
no good that ain’t ready for ’em. Andy 
there is a-watchin’, I know.” 

The frail little fellow smiled. There was 
some light on the group, thrown from the 
electric light tower, but not enough to show 
the wistfulness of the boy’s face, and the 
widow burned no oil in summer. Private- 
ly, Andy was afraid chances would not do 
him much good. 

“Why,” continued the widow, “even the 
little b’ys, Barney and Tommie, was a-watch- 
in’ the other day for chances. ’T was them 

[ 129 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


that wanted to be takin’ the job of drivin’ 
the cows from Andy and Jim, and leavin’ 
their geese to do it, too. There ’s big b’ys, 
1 ’m thinkin’, that ’s after cows when geese 
would be better suited to ’em.” 

Barney and Tommie were drowsing, but 
Jim blushed. He knew that reproof was 
meant for him. Mrs. O’ Callaghan had been 
thinking about her fourth son to-day in the 
unaccustomed leisure given her by Mike. 

“How it is I don’t know,” she mused, 
“but he do have a wonderful knack at rilin’ 
up the little b’ys, and he ’d iver be doin’ 
somethin’ he can’t do at all. I ’ll be lookin’ 
into Jim’s case. There sha’n’t wan of Tim’s 
b’ys be sp’iled if I can help it.” 

“It’s time you was goin’, ain’t it, Pat.^” 
suggested Mike. 

At this breach of hospitality the widow 
was astonished. Mike to speak like that ! 

For a second Pat seemed hurt. “I could 

[ 130 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


have stayed half an hour longer, but I ’ll 
go,” he said, rising. 

“And I ’ll go with you a ways exclaimed 
Mike, jumping up very promptly. 

Pat’s farewells were said and the two 
were off before Mrs. O’Callaghan had re- 
covered herself enough to remonstrate. 

“I wanted to be talkin’ to you, Pat, and 
I did n’t want mother to hear. That kitch- 
en ’s to hot for her to sleep in, and that ’s 
the truth.” 

“But there ain’t no other place,” answered 
Pat, anxiously. 

“No,” returned Mike, triumphantly. 
“There ain’t no other place for mother to 
sleep, but there is a place we could put the 
stove, and that ’s outside.” 

“What in.?” inquired Pat, gloomily. 

“What in? In nothin’, of course. 
There ’s nothin’ there. But could n’t we 

stick in four poles and put old boards across 
[ 131 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


so ’s the stove would be covered, and run 
the pipe out of a hole in the top?” 

“We might,” returned Pat, “but you ’ll 
have to make up your mind to get wet a-cook- 
in’ more days than one. All the rains don’t 
come straight down. There ’s them that 
drives under. And you ’d have to be carry- 
ing the things in through the wet when you 
got ’em cooked, too.” 

“And what of that?” asked Mike. “Do 
you think I care for that ? What ’s me 
gettin’ wet to makin’ mother comfortable? 
There ’s July and August cornin’ yet, and 
June only begun.” 

Pat looked at his brother admiringly, 
though the semi-darkness did not permit his 
expression to be seen. 

“We ’ll do it !” said he. “I ’ll help you dig 
the holes for the posts and all. We ’ll begin 
to-morrow evenin’. I know Mrs. Brady will 
let me come when my work ’s done.” 

[ 132 ] 


CHAPTER X 


The next morning Pat went about with 
a preoccupied air. But all his work was 
done with his accustomed despatch and skill, 
nevertheless. 

“What is on my boy’s mind.^” thought 
Mrs. Brady. Yes, that is what she thought 
— ''my boy.” 

And just then Pat looked into the sitting- 
room with his basket on his arm. “ I ’ll 
just be doin’ the marketin’ now, ma’am,” 
he said. 

“Very well,” smiled Mrs. Brady. “Here ’s 
a rose for your buttonhole. You look very 
trim this morning.” 

Pat blushed with pleasure, and, advan- 
cing, took the flower. The poor Irish boy 
had instinctively dainty tastes, and the love 

[ 133 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


of flowers was one of them. But even be- 
fore the blossom was made fast, the pre- 
occupied look returned. 

“Mrs. Brady, ma’am, would you care 
if I stopped at the lumber-yard while I ’m 
downtown ? I ’d like to be gettin’ some 
of their cheapest lumber sent home this 
afternoon.” 

“Why, no, Pat. Stop, of course.” 

Pat was encouraged. “I know I was 
out last night,” he said, “but could I be 
goin’ again this evenin’ after my work ’s 
done ? Mike ’s got a job on hand that I 
want to help him at.” 

“Yes, Pat.” 

“You see, ma’am,” said the boy, grate- 
fully, “we’re goin’ to rig up something to 
put the cook-stove in so as mother will be 
cooler. It ’s too hot for her sleepin’ in the 
kitchen.” 

Mrs. Brady looked thoughtful. Then she 

[ 134 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


said: “You are such a good, dutiful boy 
to me, that I think I must reconsider my 
permission. Lunch is prepared. You may 
go home as soon as you have finished your 
marketing and help Mike till it is time to 
get dinner. We will have something simple, 
so you need not be back until four this after- 
noon, and you may go again this evening 
to finish what remains to be done.” 

“Mrs. Brady, ma’am,” cried Pat from 
his heart, “you ’re next to the General, that ’s 
what you are, and I thank you.” 

Mrs. Brady smiled. She knew the boy’s 
love for her husband, and she understood 
that to stand next to the General in Pat’s 
estimation was to be elevated to a pinnacle. 
“Thank you, Pat,” she replied. Then she 
went on snipping at the choice plants she 
kept in the house, even in summer, and 
Pat, proudly wearing his rose, hurried off. 

But when Pat arrived at home and has- 

[ 135 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


tened out behind the shanty, the post-holes 
were dug. Mike had risen at three o’clock 
that morning, dug each one and covered it 
with a bit of board before his mother was 
up. 

“And have you come to say you can’t 
come this evenin’ ? ” asked Mike, as Pat 
advanced to where he was sorting over such 
old scraps of boards as he had been permit- 
ted to pick up and carry home. 

“I ’ve come to get to work this minute,” 
replied Pat, throwing off his blouse and 
hanging it on the sill of the open window, 
with the rose uppermost. 

“Where ’d you get that rose?” inquired 
Mike, bending to inhale its fragrance. 

“Mrs. Brady give it to me.” 

“Mother would think it was pretty,” 
with a glance at his older brother. 

“And she shall have it,” said Pat. “But 
them boards won’t do. I ’ve bought some 

[ 136 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


cheap ones at the lumber-yard, and they ’re 
on the way. And here ’s the nails. We ’ll 
get that stove out this day, I ’m thinkin’. 
I could n’t sleep in my bed last night for 
thinkin’ of mother roastin’ by it.” 

“Nor I, neither,” said Mike. 

“Well, let’s get to diggin’ the holes.” 

“They ’re dug.” 

“When did you dig ’em.?^” 

“Before day.” 

“Does mother know.^^” 

“Never a word.” 

Pat went from corner to corner and peered 
critically down into each hole. 

“You’re the boy, Mike, and that’s a 
fact,” was his approving sentence. 

Just then the boards came and were 
thrown off with a great clatter. Mrs. O’ Cal- 
laghan hurried to the door. “Now, b’ys, 
what ’s the meanin’ of this.^^” she questioned, 
when the man had gone. 

[ 137 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Have my rose, mother dear,” said Pat. 

“And it’s a pretty rose, so it is,” re- 
sponded Mrs. O’Callaghan, receiving it 
graciously. “But it don’t answer my ques- 
tion. What ’ll you be doin’ with them 
boords.^^” 

“Now, mother, it’s Mike’s plan, but 
I ’m in it, too, and we want to surprise you. 
Can’t you trust us.^” 

“I can,” was the answer. “Go on with 
your surprise.” And she went back into 
the shanty. 

Then the boys set to work in earnest. 
Four scantlings had come with the boards, 
and were speedily planted firmly. 

“We don’t need no saw, for the boards 
are of the right length, so they are. A 
man at the yard sawed ’em for me. He 
said he could as well as not. Folks are 
mighty good to us, Mike ; have you noticed 

“The right sort are good to us, of course. 

[ 138 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Them Jim Barrows boys are anything but 
good. They sets on all of us as much as 
they dares.” 

By three o’clock the roof was on, and 
the rough scraps Mike had collected were 
patched into a sort of protection for a part 
of the east side of the new kitchen. 

“Now let’s be after the stove!” cried 
Mike. 

In they went, very important. 

“ Mother dear, we ’d like to be takin’ 
down your stove, if you ’ll let us,” said Pat. 

The widow smiled. “I lets you,” she 
answered. 

Down came the stovepipe to be carried 
out. Then the lids and the doors were 
taken off to make the heavy load lighter. 
And then under went the truck that Andy 
had run to borrow, and the stove was 
out. 

Mrs. O’Callaghan carefully refrained from 

[ 139 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


looking at them, but cheerful sounds came 
in through doors and windows as the big 
boys worked and the little ones crowded 
close with eager enjoyment of the unusual 
happening. Presently there came tones of 
dismay. 

“Pat,’’ said Mike, “there’s no hole to 
run the pipe through. What’ll we do.^” 

“We ’ll have to be cuttin’ one, and with 
a jackknife, too, for we ’ve nothin’ else. 
But I ’ll have to be goin’ now. I was to be 
back by four, you know.” 

“Then we ’ll call the mother out and show 
her the surprise now,” said Mike. “I’ll 
make short work of cuttin’ that hole after 
you ’re gone.” 

“Will you be steppin’ out, mother dear.?^” 
invited Mike, gallantly. 

“You ’ll not be roastin’ by the stove no 
more this summer,” observed Pat. 

The widow came out. She looked at the 

[ 140 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


rough roof supported by the four scantlings, 
and then at her boys. 

“ Sure, ’t is a nice, airy kitchen, so it is,” 
she said. “And as for the surprise, ’t is 
jist the koind of a wan your father was al- 
ways thinkin’ up. As you say, I ’ll not be 
roastin’ no more. But it ’s awful warm 
you ’ve made my heart, b’ys. It ’s a warm 
heart that ’s good to have summer and 
winter.” And then she broke down. “Niver 
do you moind me, b’ys,” she went on after 
a moment. “ ’T is this sort of tears that 
makes a mother’s loife long, so ’t is.” 

“ Well, Mrs. Brady, ma’am, we ’re done,” 
reported Pat at a few minutes before four. 
“ Mike he ’d got up and dug all the holes 
before day, and it did n’t take us so long.” 

“And is the stove out?’" inquired Mrs. 
Brady, kindly. 

“It is, ma’am. Mike will be cookin’ 
out there this evenin’. Mike ’s gettin’ to 

[ 141 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


be the cook, ma’am. I show him all I learn 
here, and he soon has it better than I have 
myself.” 

Mrs. Brady smiled. How Mike could 
do better than Pat she did not see, but she 
could see the brotherly spirit that made 
Pat believe it. 

“Perhaps you had better go over again 
this evening,” she said, “just to see if the 
stove draws well in the new kitchen.” 

“Do you mean it, ma’am asked the 
boy, eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you, kindly. I ’d like to go, but 
I was n’t goin’ to ask. My mother says 
askin ’s a bad habit. Them that has it is 
apt to ask more than they ’d ought to many 
times.” 

Meanwhile, up on the roof of the new 
kitchen in the hot afternoon sun sat Mike 
with his knife. He had marked out the 

[ 142 ] 


the widow O’CALLAGHAN’S boys 


size of the pipe-hole with a pencil, and with 
set lips was putting all the force of his strong 
young arms into the work. A big straw 
hat was on his head, — a common straw, 
worth about fifteen cents. Clustered below 
were the little boys. 

“No, you can’t come up,” Mike had 
just said in answer to their entreaties. “The 
roof won’t bear you.” 

“ ’T would bear me, and I could help 
you cut the hole,” said Jim. 

“There goes Jim again,” soliloquized the 
widow. “Wantin’ to cut a round hole in 
a boord with a knife, when ’t is only him- 
self he ’d be cuttin’ and not the boord at 
all. It ’s not so much that he ’s iver for 
doin’ what he can’t, but he ’s awful set 
against doin’ what he can. Jim, come here !” 
she called. 

Jim obeyed. 

“You see how loike your father Pat and 

[ 143 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Moike and Andy is, some wan way and 
some another. Do you want to be loike 
him, too.^” 

Jim owned that he did. 

“Well, then, remimber your father would 
niver have been for climbin’ to the roof of 
the new kitchen and cuttin’ a round hole in 
a boord with a knife so as to run the pipe 
through when he was your soize. But he 
would have been for huntin’ up some dry 
kindlin’ to start the fire for supper. So, 
now, there ’s your job, Jim, and do it good. 
Don’t come back with a skimpin’ bit that 
won’t start the coal at all.” 

With lagging steps Jim set off to the 
patch of hazel brush north of the shanty to 
pick up such dry twigs as he could. His 
mother gazed after him. 

“Tim left me a fortune when he left me 
my b’ys, all but Jim,” she said, “and see 
if I don’t make something out of him, 

[ 144 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


too. Pat and Moike and Andy — showin’ 
that you sense what they ’re doin’ is enough 
for ’em. Jist that will kape ’em goin’ foine. 
But Jim, he ’ll take leadin’ with praise and 
shovin’ with blame, and he ’ll get both of 
’em from me, so he will. For sure, he ’s 
Tim’s b’y, too, and will I be leavin’ him 
to spoil for want of a harsh word now and 
then ? I won’t that. There ’s them in this 
world that needs settin’ up and there ’s 
them that needs takin’ down a peg. And 
wanst in a while you see wan that needs 
both of ’em, and that ’s Jim, so ’t is. Well, 
I know it in toime, that ’s wan thing.” 

Jim made such slow progress that the 
hole was cut, the pipe run through, and 
Mike was beginning to look about for his 
own kindling when he made his appearance. 

“Well, Jim,” said his mother, taking 
him aside, “ there ’s something the matter 
with your feet, I ’m thinkin’, you ’ve been 

[ 145 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


gone so long. You was all but missin’ the 
chance of seein’ the first fire started in the 
new kitchen. There ’s something to remim- 
ber, — seein’ a sight loike that, — and then 
you have it to think about that it was your- 
silf that provided the kindlin’ for it. All 
this you was on the p’int of losin’ through 
bein’ slow on your feet. Your father was 
the spriest koind of a b’y, I ’m told. Only 
show him an errand, and he was off on it. 
Get some spryness into your feet if you want 
to be like your father, and run, now, to see 
Moike loight the fire. And don’t be reachin’ 
to take the match out of his hand, nayther. 
Your toime of fire buildin’ will come.” 

Away went Jim. He was certainly spry 
enough now. Mike was just setting the 
blazing match to the kindling when he 
reached the group around the stove. At 
the front stood the little boys, and in a twin- 
kling Jim had pushed them one this way, 

[ 146 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


one that, in order to stand directly in front 
of the stove himself. 

“There he goes again,” sighed the widow. 
“ ’T is a many pegs Jim will have to be 
took down, I ’m thinkin’.” 


[ 147 ] 


CHAPTER XI 


It was the last day of August that Pat 
went walking down to do his marketing 
with a jubilant air. Next week school was 
to begin, and with the beginning of the term 
he had expected to go back to his old wages 
of a dollar a week. But that morning Mrs. 
Brady had told him that he was still to have 
two dollars. 

“And me goin’ to school asked the 
boy in surprise. 

“Yes, Pat. You have come to be very 
skilful about the house and you are worth it.” 

“ I was n’t thinkin’ about gettin’ skilful, 
ma’am, so as to have my wages raised,” 
was the earnest answer. “I was just think- 
in’ how to please you, and doin’ my best.” 

Mrs. Brady was touched. “You have 

[ 148 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


pleased me, Pat, and you have pleased Mr. 
Brady, too. We both take a great interest 
in you.” 

“Do you, ma’am.? Then that’s better 
than havin’ my wages raised, though it ’s 
glad of the raise I am, too, and thank you 
for it. ’T will be great news to be takin’ 
home the next time I go.” 

But Pat was to take home greater news 
than that, though he did not know it as he 
went along with all the light-heartedness 
of his race. The sight of the tall, slender 
boy with his basket on his arm had grown 
familiar in the streets of Wennott. He was 
never left waiting in the stores now, and 
nothing but the best was ever offered him. 
Not only did the grocers know him, but 
the butchers, the poulterers, and even the 
dry goods merchants. For he often matched 
silks and wools for Mrs. Brady, and he had 
been known to buy towels of the common 

[ 149 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


sort. A group of loafers shrugged their 
shoulders as he passed them this morning, 
and fell to repeating anecdotes of his shrewd- 
ness when certain dealers had tried to sell 
him poor goods at market prices. 

“There’s nobody in this town ever got 
ahead of him yet on a deal,” said one. “ He ’s 
so awful honest.” 

“Bein’ square himself, he won’t take 
nothin’ but squareness from nobody, and 
while he ’s lookin’ out for his own chances 
he looks out for the other fellow’s, too. 
Times and times he ’s handed back nickels 
and dimes when change was n’t made 
straight,” contributed a second. 

“There ’s two or three store men in town 
got their eye on him. They don’t like to 
say nothin’, seein’ he ’s cookin’ at General 
Brady’s, but if he ever leaves there, he ’ll 
have pick and choice. Yes, sir, pick and 
choice,” concluded a third. 

[ 150 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


At that very moment a dry goods merchant 
of the west side of the square was in the bank 
talking to General Brady. “I might as 
well speak,” Mr. Farnham had thought. 
“If I don’t get him, somebody else will.” 
What the loafers had said was true. 

“General,” began Mr. Farnham, after 
the two had exchanged greetings, “I dislike 
to interfere with your family arrangements, 
but I should like to have Pat in the store 
this fall. I ’ll give him fifteen dollars a 
month.” 

The General smiled. “Fifteen dollars is 
cheap for Pat, Mr. Farnham. He ’s no 
ordinary boy.” 

“But that’s the regular price paid here 
for beginners,” responded Mr. Farnham; 
“and he ’ll have a great deal to learn.” 

“Have you spoken to him yet.?” 

“No, I thought I would speak to you 
first.” 

[ 151 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Well, Mr. Farnham, Mrs. Brady and 
I some time ago decided that, much as we 
should like to keep Pat with us, we would 
not stand in his way when his chance came. 
I think this is his chance. And I don’t 
doubt he ’ll come to you.” 

After a little further talk between the 
two General Brady said : “There is another 
matter I wish to mention. Mrs. O’ Cal- 
laghan has set her heart on having Pat 
graduate from the public school. He could 
do so easily in another year, but with his 
strong mercantile bent, and taking into con- 
sideration the struggle his mother is obliged 
to make to keep him there, I don’t think 
it best, for, while Pat supports himself, he 
can do nothing to help at home. I ask 
you to give him one evening out a week, 
Mr. Farnham, and I will direct his reading 
on that evening. If I can bring him up 
and keep him abreast of the times, and 

[ 152 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


prevent him from getting into mischief, he ’ll 
do.” 

“I shouldn’t think he could accomplish 
much with one evening a week, General,” 
objected Mr. Farnham, who did not 
wish to give Pat a regular evening out. 
An occasional evening was enough, he 
thought. 

“O yes, he can,” insisted the General. 
“The most of his reading he will do at odd 
minutes, and that evening will be chiefly 
a resume and discussion of what he has 
gone over during the week.” 

“You must take a strong interest in the 
boy. General.” 

“I do. I don’t mind telling you private- 
ly, Mr. Farnham, that I mean to push him. 
Not by charity, which, to the best of my 
belief, not an O’Callaghan would take, but 
by giving him every opportunity in my 
power to advance for himself.” 

[ 153 ] 


THE WIDOW O^CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“In other words, you mean to protect 
the boy’s interests, General?” 

“I do. As I said before, fifteen dollars 
a month is cheap for Pat. I suppose he is 
to have, in addition, his one evening a 
week?” 

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Farnham, reluctantly. 

“Thank you,” said the General, cour- 
teously. 

General Brady had intended to keep 
his news from Pat until the next morning, 
but it would not keep. As the boy, with 
his spotless apron on, brought in the dinner 
and stood ready to wait at table, the old 
soldier found the words crowding to the 
tip end of his tongue. His keen eyes shone, 
and he regarded with a most kindly gaze 
the lad who, to make life a little easier for 
his mother, had faced jeers and contempt 
and had turned himself into a girl — a kitchen 
girl. It was not with his usual smoothness, 

[ 154 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


but quite abruptly, that he began : “ Pat, 

you are to leave us, it seems.” 

Pat so far forgot his manners as to stop 
and stare blankly at his employer. 

“Yes, Pat. You are going into Mr. 
Farnham’s store this fall at fifteen dollars 
a month.” 

If anything could have more endeared 
him to the General and his wife it was the 
way in which Pat received this, to him, 
important communication. He looked from 
one to another and back again, his face 
radiant with delight. The born trader was 
to have an opportunity to trade. 

And then his expression sobered. “But 
what will Mrs. Brady be doin’ without me.^” 
he cried. “Sure she’s used to me now, 
and she ’s not strong, either.” 

“Perhaps Mike would come,” suggested 
Mrs. Brady. 

“He’ll be glad to do it, ma’am!” ex- 

[ 155 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


claimed Pat, his joy returning. “’T is him- 
self that thinks its first the General and 
then you, just as I do.” 

“I hope you may always think so,” said 
Mrs. Brady, smiling. 

“Sure and I will. How could I be think- 
in’ anything else.^^” 

And then the meal went on. 

That evening, by permission, Pat went 
home. He sang, whistled, he almost danced 
down the track. 

“ And it ’s Pat as is the happy b’y this 
evenin’,” said Mrs. O’Callaghan. “Listen 
to him singin’ and whistlin’, first wan and 
then the other. Gineral Brady ’s the place 
for any one.” 

The family were sitting in the kitchen, 
for the evening was a trifie cool. But the win- 
dows were open and there was a lamp burning. 

“He’s got some good news, I guess,” 
remarked quiet Andy. 

[ 156 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


The mother gave him a quick glance. 
“Andy/’ she said, “you ’re the b’y as is 
different from all the rest, and a comfort 
you are, too. ’T is n’t ivery family has a 
b’y as can hear good news when it ’s cornin’.” 

And then Pat came in. His eyes were 
ablaze, and his wide mouth wore its most 
joyous smile. He looked round upon them 
all for one second, and then, in a ringing 
voice, he cried : “ Mother 1 O mother, 

it ’s to Mr. Farnham’s store I ’m to go, and 
I ’m to have fifteen dollars a month, and 
the General is going to help me with my 
books, and Mrs. Brady wants Mike to go 
to her !” 

It was all out in a breath, and it was 
such a tremendous piece of news that it 
left them all gasping but Larry, who under- 
stood not a thing but that Pat had come, 
and who stood waiting to be noticed by the 
big brother. For a full moment there was 

[ 157 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


neither speech nor motion. Then the widow 
looked slowly round upon her sons. Her 
heart was full of gratitude to the Bradys, 
of pride in Pat, of exultation over his good 
fortune, and, at the same time, her eyes were 
brimming with tears. 

“B’ys,” she said at last, “I wasn’t look- 
ing for permotions quite so soon again. 
But I belave that where they ’ve come wanst, 
they ’re loikely to be cornin’ again, if them 
that ’s permoted lives up to their chances. 
Who ’s been permoted in Mr. Farnham’s 
store, I can’t say. But sure Pat he steps 
up, and Moike steps into the good place 
Pat has stepped out of, and gives Andy his 
chance here at home. There ’s them that 
says there ’s no chances for anybody any 
more, but the world ’s full of chances. It ’s 
nothin’ but chances, so ’t is. Sure a body 
don’t want to be jerked from wan thing 
to another so quick their head spins, and 

[ 158 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


so chances come along pretty middlin’ slow. 
But the world ’s full of ’em. Let Andy 
wanst get lamed here at home, and you ’ll 
be seein’ what he ’ll do. Andy ’s not so 
strong as some, and he ’ll need help. I ’m 
thinkin’ I ’ll make a team out of him and 
Jim.” 

“I don’t want to be helpin’. I want 
to be doin’ mesilf,” objected Jim. 

“And what will you be doin’ asked 
the widow. “You ’re full short for spreadin’ 
bedclothes, for though nine years makes a 
b’y plinty big enough for some things, it 
laves him a bit small for others. You can’t 
be cookin’ yet, nor sweepin’, nor even loight- 
in’ fires. But you shall' be doin’, since 
doin’ ’s what you want. You shall wipe 
the dishes, and set the table, and do the 
dustin’, and get the kindlin’, and sure you ’ll 
be tired enough when you ’ve all that done 
to make you glad you ’re no older and no 

[ 159 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


bigger. Your father, when he was noine, 
would have thought that a plinty for him, 
and so it ’s a plinty for you, as you ’ll foind. 
You ’re quite young to be permoted that 
high,” went on his mother, seeing a dis- 
contented expression on the little fellow’s 
face. “Only for the big b’ys gettin’ ahead 
so fast, you would n’t have no chance at all, 
and folks wouldn’t think you much bigger 
than Barney there, so they would n’t. B ’ys 
of nine that gets any sort of permotion is 
doin’ foine, let me tell you. And now ’s 
your chance to show Moike that you can 
kape the dishes shinin’, and niver a speck 
of dust on anything as well as he could him- 
silf.” 

Jim straightened himself, and Mike 
smiled encouragingly upon him. “You can 
do it, Jim,” he said with a nod. 

And Jim decided then and there that he 
would do it. 


[ 160 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“I ’ll be lookin’ round when I come to 
visit you all from Mrs. Brady’s, and 
I expect to be proud of Jim,” added 
Mike. 

And Jim increased his determination. He 
wanted to have Mike proud of him. Very 
likely Mike would not be proud of the little 
boys. There was nothing about them to 
be proud of. “He shall be proud of me,” 
thought Jim, and an important look stole 
over his face. “He’ll be tellin’ me I’m 
the b’y, I should n’t wonder.” 

And now the widow’s mind went swiftly 
back to the General. “ Sure, an4 it ’s a won- 
derful man he is,” she cried. “Your father 
was jist such a man, barrin’ he was Irish 
and no Gineral at all. ’T was him that 
was at the bottom of your gettin’ the place 
to Mr. Farnham’s, a-trustin’ you to do all 
the buyin’ so ’s folks could see what was 

in you. It ’s sorry I am about the gradu- 
[ 161 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ation, but the Gineral knows best, so he 
does.” 

Then her thought turned to the finances 
of the family. “And how much is sixteen 
and fifteen.^” she asked. “Sure and it’s 
thirty-wan dollars a month for us this winter, 
and Moike takin’ care of himself, to say 
nothin of what Moike has earned with the 
lawn mower. ‘Blessin’ ’s on the man that 
invented it,’ says I, ‘and put folks in the 
notion of havin’ their lawns kept neat, ’cause 
they could do it cheap.’ And there ’s what 
Andy and Jim has made a-drivin’ the cows, 
and Barney and Tommie a-takin’ care of 
the geese. Wennott ’s the town for them 
as can work. And bad luck to lazy bones 
anyway. It ’s thankful I am I ’ve got none 
of ’em in my family.” 

She paused a moment in reflection. 

“Them geese now is foine. Do you 

think, Pat, that Gineral and Mrs. Brady 
[ 162 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


would enjoy eatin’ wan of ’em when it ’s 
a bit cooler? You knows what they loikes 
by this time.” 

“I think they would, mother.” 

“ Then it ’s the best of the lot they shall 
have. Bad luck to them that ’s always 
a-takin’ and niver wantin’ to be givin’ back.” 


[ 163 ] 


CHAPTER XII 


The fall term opened and found Mike 
the head of the O’Callaghan tribe, as the 
brothers had been jeeringly called by the 
Jim Barrows set. And Mike was a good 
head. The sort of boy to impress others 
with the good sense of minding their own 
business. His blue eyes had a determined 
look, as he came on the campus the first 
morning of the new term, that made his old 
persecutors think it best to withhold such 
choice epithets as “Biddy,” “Kitchen Girl,” 
and “Scrub Maid,” which they had laid up 
for him. For they knew that it was Mike 
who now did housework at General Brady’s. 
They had never seen Mike fight. He had 
always stood back and let Pat lead. But 
there was something in his erect and inde- 

[ 164 ] 




“Say, Jim — we’d better let those O ’Callaghans alone” 






THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


pendent bearing on this autumn morning 
that made it very evident to the school bul- 
lies that if Mike did not fight it was not 
because be could not. 

“Them O’Callaghans think they ’re some 
since General Brady picked ’em up,” com- 
mented Jim Barrows, safely out of Mike’s 
hearing. 

“General Brady had never heard of them 
when Pat gave you a licking, Jim, or don’t 
you remember.?” asked Bob Farnham, who 
was passing. 

“Say, Jim,” advised a crony, as the two 
sauntered off together, “we’d better let 
them O’ Callaghans alone. I don’t like the 
looks of that Mike. ’T was n’t any wonder 
that Pat licked you, for you ’re not much 
on the fight anyway. But I tell you, I 
would n’t like to tackle that Mike myself. 
He ’s one of them pleasant kind that ’s a 
regular tiger when you stir him up.” 

[ 165 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“ He ’s been runnin’ lawn mowers all 
summer,” observed Jim, reflectively. “I 
reckon he ’s got his muscle up. Don’t know 
but we had best leave him alone.” 

“Let me tell you, Jim, ’t won’t do just 
to let him alone. We ’ve got to let ’em all 
alone — Andy and Jim and Barney and 
Tommie — or he ’ll light into us same as 
Pat did into you.” 

“Why can’t a fellow do just his own 
fightin’,” grumbled Jim Barrows, “and let 
the kids look out for themselves.^” 

“Some of ’em can, but the O’Callaghans 
ain’t that kind. Touch one, touch ’em all, 
as you ’d ought to know, Jim.” 

“ O shut up ! You need n’t be throwin’ 
up that lickin’ to me every minute. I was 
surprised, I tell you, — astonished, as I might 
say. I was n’t lookin’ to be pitched into 
by a low-down Irish boy.” 

“O, wasn’t you.?” queried his friend, 
[ 166 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ironically. “Well, you keep on a-hectorin’, 
and you ’ll be surprised again, or astonished, 
as you might say. That ’s all.” 

Jim Barrows had not looked into Mike’s 
eye for nothing. He knew for himself the 
truth of all his companion had been saying, 
and from that hour the little boys had peace. 

That same Monday was the most ex- 
citing and important day of his life to Pat. 
He saw other clerks lagging along without 
interest, and he wondered at them. Hith- 
erto, in all transactions, he had been a buyer. 
Now he was to sell. 

Farnham’s store was on the west side 
of the square, a fair-sized room, but 
rather dark, and not the best place in the 
world to display goods. It was not even 
the best place in Wennott, the storerooms 
of both Wall and Arnold being newer and 
better fitted. But displaying goods was not 
Pat’s affair that morning. It was his part 

[ 167 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


to display a clean floor and well-dusted 
shelves and counters to the first customer. 

Mr. Farnham came in at the hour when 
he had usually found his other boy through 
with the sweeping and dusting, and Pat was 
still using the broom. His employer, seeing 
the skilful strokes of the broom, wondered. 
But he was soon enlightened. Pat was not 
giving the middle of the floor a brush out. 
He was sweeping thoroughly into every 
corner where a broom could find entrance. 
For Pat knew nothing of “brush outs,” 
though he knew all about clean floors. Every 
little while he stopped, swept up his collection 
into the dust-pan, and carried it to a waste- 
box in the back of the store. Mr. Farnham 
watched his movements. “He’s business,” 
he commented to himself. “Neither hurry 
nor lag.” 

At last Pat was through. One of the 

clerks came in, and she stared to see the 
[ 168 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


shelves still wearing their dust-curtains. But 
Pat was unconcerned. He had never opened 
a store before, nor seen one opened. He 
had been told to sweep out and dust, and 
he was obeying orders. That was all he 
was thinking about. 

The sweeping done, Pat waited for the 
little dust that was flying to settle. Then 
he walked to the front end of the store and 
began to unhook the dust-curtains. Very 
gingerly he took hold of them, being careful 
to disturb them as little as possible. Mr. 
Farnham and the girl clerk watched him. 
Every other boy had jerked them down and 
chucked them under the counter in a jiffy. 
Out went Pat with them to the rear door, 
gave them a vigorous shaking, brought them 
back, folded them quickly and neatly, and 
then, turning to Mr. Farnham said, “Where 
will you have ’em, sir.?” 

In silence Mr. Farnham pointed out a 

[ 169 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


place, and then handed him a feather duster, 
showing him, at the same time, how to fleck 
the dust off the edges of the bolts of goods 
along the shelves, and also off the counter. 

“This thing ’s no good for the glass show-^ 
cases, sir. I ’d ought to have a soft cloth. 
Something to take the dust up with, sir.” 

The merchant turned to the girl clerk. 
“Cut him off a square of cheesecloth. Miss 
Emlin, please,” he said. 

“Ordinary boy!” exclaimed Mr. Farn- 
ham to himself, and thinking of the General. 
“ I should say he was n’t. But cleaning up 
a store and selling goods are two different 
things.” 

It was a very small place that was given 
to Pat in the store that day — just the cal- 
icoes, ginghams, and muslins. And Pat was 
dissatisfied. 

“’T is n’t much of a chance I’ve got,” 
he murmured to himself. “ Gingham — 

[ 170 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


that ’s for aprons ; and calico — that ’s for 
dresses ; and muslin — that ’s for a lot of 
things. Maybe I ’ll sell something. But it 
looks as if I ’d be doin’ nothin’, that ’s what 
it does.” 

He thought of the home folks and how 
his mother’s mind would be ever upon him 
during his first important day. “Maybe 
I ’m a bit like little Jim — wantin’ to do 
what I can’t do. Maybe geese are my size,” 
and he smiled. “Well, then. I’ll tend to 
my geese and tend ’em good, so I will.” 

He began emptying his calico tables upon 
the counter. Mr. Farnham saw him from 
the desk, and walked that way at once. 
“What’s the matter, Pat.^” he inquired. 

“ Sure I ’m just gettin’ acquainted with 
the goods, sir. I was thinkin’ I could sell 
better, if I knew what I ’d got. I ’ll put 
’em back, sir, when I ’ve looked ’em over.” 

And entirely satisfied with his newest 
[ 171 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


clerk, though Pat did not suspect it, Mr. 
Farnham returned to his writing. 

Pat had often noticed and admired the 
way in which the dry goods clerks ran off a 
length of goods, gathered it in folds, and 
held it up before the customer. 

“If I thought nobody was lookin’, I’d 
try it, so I would,” he said to himself. 

He glanced around. Nobody seemed to 
be paying any attention. Pat tried it, and 
a funny affair he made of it. Mr. Farnham, 
who was only apparently busy, had to exert 
all his will power to keep back a smile. For 
Pat, with the fear of observers before his 
eyes, unrolled the web with a softness that ^ 
was almost sneaking; he held up the length 
with a trembling hand and a reddening 
cheek; and putting his head on one side, 
regarded his imaginary customer with a 
shamefaced air that was most amusing. 

Pat seemed to feel that he had made 

[ 172 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


himself ridiculous. He sighed. “There’s 
too much style to it for me yet,” he said. 
“I ’ll just have to sell ’em plain goods with- 
out any flourishes. But I ’ll do it yet, so I 
will, only I ’ll practice it at home.” 

“And what did you be sellin’ to-day, Pat 
dear.^^” asked his mother when at half-past 
nine he entered the kitchen door. She would 
not ask him at supper-time. She wished to 
hear the sum total of the day’s sales at once, 
and she had prepared her mind for a long 
list of articles. 

“Well, mother,” answered Pat, drawing 
a long breath, “I sold two yards and a half 
of gingham.” 

The widow nodded. But Pat did not 
go on. 

“And what else, Pat dear.?” 

“Nothin’ else, mother.” 

Mrs. O’Callaghan looked astonished. 
“That’s little to be sellin’ in a whole day,” 

[ 173 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


she observed. “ Did n’t you sell no silks 
and velvets and laces 

“I’m not to sell them, mother.” 

“And why not.?” with a mystified air. 

“Sure and I don’t know. I’ve just the 
calicoes and the ginghams and the muslins.” 

“Ah!” breathed the widow. And she 
sat silent in thought a while. The small 
lamp on the pine table burned brightly, and 
it lit up Pat’s face so that with every glance 
his mother cast at him she read there the 
discouragement he felt. 

“Pat dear,” she began presently, “there ’s 
beginnin’s in all things. And the begin- 
nin’s is either at the bottom or at wan ind, 
depindin’ which way you ’re to go. Roads 
has their beginnin’s at wan ind and runs 
on, round corners, maybe, to the other ind. 
Permotions begin at the bottom. You 
moind I was tellin you ’t was loikely there 
was permotions in stores.?” 

[ 174 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Pat gazed at his mother eagerly. “Do 
you think so, mother 

“I think so. Else why should they put 
the last hand in to sweepin’ out and sellin’ 
naught but ginghams and calicoes and mus- 
lins ? And will you be tellin’ me what the 
b’y that swept out before you is sellin’ 
continued the little woman, anxious to prove 
the truth of her opinion. 

“Sure and he ain’t sellin’ nothin’,” re- 
sponded the son. “He ain’t there.” 

“And why not.^” interrogated Mrs. 
O’Callaghan. 

“I ’m told he did n’t do his work good.” 

Mrs. O’Callaghan looked grave. “Well,” 
she said, “there ’s a lesson for them that 
needs it. There ’s gettin’ out of stores as well 
as gettin’ in, so there is. And now, Pat, 
cheer up. ’T is loikely sellin’ things is a 
business that ’s got to be lamed the same 
as any other.” 


[ 175 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Well, but, mother, I know every piece 
I ’ve got, and the price of it.” 

“Can you measure ’em off handy and 
careless loike, so that a body wonders if you 
ain’t makin’ a mistake, and measures ’em 
over after you when they gets home, and 
then foinds it ’s all roight and trusts you 
the nixt toime.?” 

Pat was obliged to admit that he could 
not. 

“And can you tie up a bundle quick and 
slick and make it look neat.^” 

Again Pat had to acknowledge his de- 
ficiency. 

His mother regarded him with an air of 
triumph. “I knowed I could put my finger 
on the trouble if I thought about it. You ’ve 
got it in you to sell, else Mr. Farnham 
would n’t have asked for you. But he wants 
you for what you can do after a while more 
than for what you can do now. Remimber 

[ 176 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


your beds and your cookin’, Pat, and don’t 
be bakin’ beans by your own receipt down 
there to the store. It ’s a foine chance 
you ’ve got, so ’t is.. Maybe you ’ll be 
sellin’ more to-morrow. And another thing, 
do you belave you ’ve got jist as good cali- 
coes and ginghams and muslins to sell as 
there is in town.?^” 

“Yes, mother, I know I have.” 

“Then you’ve got to make the ladies 
belave it, too. And it won’t be such a hard 
job, nayther, if you do your best. If they 
don’t like wan thing, show ’em another. 
There ’s them among ’em as is hard to plaze, 
and remimber you don’t know much about 
the ladies anyhow, havin’ had to do only 
with your mother and Mrs. Gineral Brady. 
And there ’s different sorts of ladies, too, so 
there is, as you ’ll foind. It ’s a smart man 
as can plaze the half of ’em, but you ’ll come 

to it in time, if you try. Your father had a 
[ 177 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


great knack at plazin’ people, so he had, 
Pat. For folks mostly loikes them that 
will take pains for ’em ; and your father 
was always obligin’. And you are, too, 
Pat, but kape on at it. Folks ain’t a-goin’ 
to buy nothin’, if they can help it, from a 
clerk that ain’t obligin’. Sellin’ goods is 
pretty much loike doin’ housework, you ’ll 
foind, only it ’s different.” 


[ 178 ] 


CHAPTER XIII 


“Pat,” said his mother the next morning 
at breakfast, “what’s that book you used 
to be studyin’ that larns you to talk roight?” 

“Grammar, mother.” 

“Well, then, your studyin’ has done you 
small good, for you talk pretty much the 
way I do mysilf, and niver a bit of that 
book did I be lamin’ in my loife. It don’t 
make a bit of difference what you know, 
if you don’t go and do what you know. 
But you ’re not too old to begin over again, 
Pat, and practice talkin’ roight. Roight 
talkin’ will help you in the store. You ’ve 
got in, and that ’s only half of it, for you ’ll 
not stay in if you don’t do your best. And 
that ’s why helpin’ a body don’t do so much 
good after all.” 


[ 179 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Pat blushed, and the widow felt a little 
compassion. She threw increased confidence 
into her tone as she went on. “Not 
as anybody thinks you won’t stay, Pat, for, 
of course, you ’ll do 'your best. But about 
your talkin’ — you ’ll need somebody to watch 
you close, and somebody that loves you well 
enough to tell you your mistakes koindly, 
and Andy ’s the b’y to do it. He ’s the 
wan among you all that talks roight, for he 
loves his book, do you moind.” 

And now it was Andy’s turn to blush, 
while the widow smiled upon him. “I hear 
a many of them grammar folks talk,” she 
said, “and it’s mysilf that sees you talk 
jist loike ’em, barrin’ the toimes when you 
don’t. And them ’s not so many, nayther.” 

At this little Jim scowled scornfully, but 
of him his mother took no notice as she 
looked around with pride upon her sons. 

“And it’s proud I am to be havin’ all 
[ 180 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


sorts of b’ys in my family, barrin’ bad wans,” 
she continued. “I’ll jist be tryin’ to larn 
a little better ways of talkin’ mysilf, so I 
will, not as I think there ’s much chance 
for me; and there ’s no good of waitin’ till 
you get as old as Pat, Jim, you ’ll be takin’ 
heed to Andy’s talkin’. Andy ’s the talker 
as would have plazed his father, for his 
father loiked everything done roight, so he 
did.” 

It was pleasant to see Andy’s sensitive 
face glow with delight as being thus pub- 
licly commended by that potentate of the 
family, his mother. Mrs. O’Callaghan saw 
it. “And did you think I wasn’t noticin’ 
because I didn’t say nothin’.^” she asked 
him. 

Then turning to the rest, “B’ys, you 
mostly niver knows what folks is a-noticin’ 
by what they says — that is, to your face — 

but you sometoimes foinds out by bearin’ 
[ 181 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


what they ’ve been sayln’ behoind your back. 
And, by the same token, it ’s mostly bad 
they says behoind your back.” 

“I don’t want to be lamin’ from Andy,” 
interrupted Jim. “He ’s but two years older 
than me anyway.” 

The widow eyed him severely. “Well, 
Jim, is it bigger and older than Pat you are ? 
Pat ’s goin’ to larn from Andy. And is it 
older than your mother you are, that ’s 
forty years old ? Sure I ’m goin’ to larn 
from Andy.” 

But Jim still appeared rebellious. 

“Some of these days little Barney and 
Tommie and Larry will be set to larn from 
you. Take care they ’re not set to larn 
what not to do from lookin’ at you. ’T is 
Andy that ’s got the gift ne’er a wan of us 
has, and he ’ll show us how to profit by it, 
if we has sinse. It ’s thinkin’ I am your 

father, if he was here, would not have been 
[ 182 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


above touchin’ up his own talkin’ a bit 
under Andy’s teachin’. Your father was for 
lamin’ all he could, no matter who from, 
old or young.” 

Now, the widow might have talked long 
to Jim without affecting him much, but for 
one thing. She said that Andy had a gift 
that all the rest lacked. He resolved from 
that moment that he would talk better than 
Andy yet, or know why. 

A pretty big resolve for so young a boy, 
but Jim could not endure to yield the suprem- 
acy to Andy in anything. Pat and Mike 
he was content to look up to, btit Andy was 
too near his own age, and too small and 
frail to challenge Jim’s respect. 

That morning Jim said little, but his ears 
were open. Every sentence that Andy spoke 
was carefully listened to, but the little fellow 
went to school not much enlightened. He 
could see the difference between his speech 

[1S3] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and Andy’s, but he could not see what made 
the difference. xAnd ask Andy he would n’t. 

“ I ’ll be askin’ the teacher, so I will,” 
he thought. 

That morning at recess, a small, red- 
headed, belligerent-looking boy, with a pair 
of mischievous blue eyes, w^ent up to Miss 
Slocum’s desk. But the eyes were not mis- 
chievous now. They were very earnest as 
they gazed up into his teacher’s face. 

“Plaze, ma’am, will you be sayin’, . I’ll 
be lamin’ it yet, so I will.?” 

Miss Slocum was surprised. “What did 
you say, Jim.?” she asked. 

“Plaze, ma’am, will you say. I’ll be 
lamin’ it yet, so I will.?” 

Miss Slocum smiled, and obligingly re- 
peated, “I’ll be lamin’ it yet, so I will.” 

“No,” said Jim, “that’s the way I 
said it. Say it right.” 

“Say it right!” exclaimed Miss Slocum. 

[ 184 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Yes, say it like the grammar book.” 

“O,” said Miss Slocum, wonderingly. 
“I will learn it yet. Is that what you 
wanted 

“Yes, ma’am. Will you be tellin’ me 
some more when I want to know it.^^” 

“Certainly,” responded the gratified 
teacher, w^hereat Jim went away satisfied. 
He smiled to himself knowingly, as he caught 
sight of Andy at a distance on the campus. 
“I’ll not be askin’ him nayther,” he said. 
“I will learn it yet.” 

As for Pat, he went to the store that 
same morning a trifle disconsolate. He w'as 
fond of trade, but he knew almost nothing 
of dry goods; and here was his mother 
counseling him to improve his speech, and 
holding up to him the warning that his 
own ineflSciency might lose him his place. 

“Well, I know how to sweep and dust, 
anyway,” he thought, as he unlocked the 

[ 185 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


store door, went in and took up his broom. 
As thoroughly as before he went over every- 
thing, but much more quickly, not having 
the accumulated shiftlessness of former boys 
to contend with. And Mr. Farnham, on 
his arrival, found everything spotless. 

Customers at Pat’s department that day 
found a very silent clerk, but one eager to 
oblige. Many times before he went home 
for the night did he display every piece of 
goods in his charge, and that with such 
an evident wish to please, that his sales 
were considerable. And the widow heard 
his report at bedtime with something like 
satisfaction. 

“And what did you say to make ’em 
buy.^^” she inquired. 

“Well, mother, I mostly didn’t say any- 
thing. I did n’t know what to say, and I 
could n’t say it right, neither, and so I just 

watched, and if they so much as turned 
[ 186 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


their eyes on a piece, I got it out of the pile 
and showed it to ’em. I just wished with 
all my might to sell to ’em, and I sold to 

JJ 

em. 

His mother’s eyes were fixed on him, 
and she nodded her head approvingly. “ Sure 
and if you could n’t do no better, that 
was good enough, so ’t was,” was her com- 
ment. “You ’ll larn. But did n’t nobody 
say nothin’ to you.^^” 

“They did, mother, of course.” 

“And who was they that spoke to you, 
and what about 

“Well, mother, there was old Mrs. Barter, 
for one. She ’s awful stingy. I ’ve seen 
her more than once in the groceries. Always 
a-wantin’ everything a little lower, and 
grumblin’ because the quality was n’t good. 
Them grocers’ clerks mostly hates her, I 
believe. And they don’t want to wait on 
her, none of ’em. ’T was her, I ’m told, 

[ 187 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN^S BOYS 


washed up two or three of them wooden 
butter-dishes and took ’em up and wanted 
to sell ’em back to them she got her butter 
from.” 

“Ah!” said Mrs. O’Callaghan, with her 
eyes sympathetically upon her son. “And 
she was to buy of you to-day, was she.^” 

“Yes, mother.” 

“And did she buy anything.?” 

“She did.” 

“What was it.?” 

“A calico dress.” 

“And how come she to do it.?” 

“I don’t know. She begun by lookin’ 
everything over and runnin’ everything down. 
And at last she took hold of a piece, and 
says she, ‘ Come, young man, I ’ve seen you 
a-buyin’ more than once. Can you tell me 
this is a good piece that won’t fade.?’ ‘I 
can, ma’am,’ says I. ‘You won’t find no 
better in town.’ 


[ 188 ] 



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THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“‘Ah! but you’re sellin’,’ says she. 
‘Would you tell your mother the same.^’ 
And she looked at me sharp. 

“‘I would, ma’am,’ says I. 

“‘Then I’ll take it,’ says she. ‘I’ve 
not watched you for nothin’.’ ” 

“And then what.^” asked Mrs. O’Cal- 
laghan, eagerly. This, in her opinion, was 
a triumph for Pat. 

“Why, nothin’, mother, only I wrapped 
it up and give it to her, and I says, ‘Come 
again, ma’am,’ and she says, ‘I will, young 
man, you may depend.’ ” 

The little woman regarded him proudly. 
But all she said was: “When you’re doin’ 
well, Pat, the thing is to see if you can’t 
do better. You had others a-buyin’ of you 
to-day, I hope.^” 

“Yes, mother.” 

“ ’T is too late to hear about it to-night, 
for ’t is good sleep that sharpens the wits. 

[ 189 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


And the broightest wits will bear that koind 
of sharpenin’, so they will. I would n’t 
be knowin’ what to do half the time if it 
was n’t for sleepin’ good of nights. And, 
by the same token, if any of them high- 
steppin’ clerks comes around with a cigar 
and a wantin’ you to go here and yon of 
nights, jist remimber that your wits is your 
stock in trade, and Mr. Farnham ’s not 
wantin’ dull wans about him, nayther.” 

Thus having headed off any designs that 
might be had upon Pat, his mother went to 
sharpen her own wits for whatever the mor- 
row might have in store for her. 

And now a change began to come over 
Jim. He left his younger brothers in unhec- 
tored peace. He had not much to say, but 
ever he watched Andy from the corner of a 
jealous eye, and listened for him to speak. 
All his pugnacity was engaged in what seemed 
to be a profitless struggle with the speech of 

[ 190 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the grammar. “I will larn it yet,” he re- 
peated over and over. And even while the 
words were in his mouth, if he had had less 
obstinacy in his make-up, he would have 
yielded himself to despair. But a good thing 
happened to him. Miss Slocum, not knowing 
his ignoble motive, and seeing a very earnest 
child striving to improve himself, set about 
helping him in every possible way. 

One day she called him to her. “Jim,” 
she said, “asking me questions is slow work. 
Suppose I correct you every time you make a 
mistake 

“Yes, ma’am,” answered Jim vaguely, not 
knowing the meaning of correct. 

“You don’t understand me.?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

Correct means to make right. Suppose I 
set you right whenever you go wrong.?” 

“That’s it!” cried Jim, enthusiastically. 
“That’s it! I can larn that way sure.” 

[ 191 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Learn, not larn, Jim.” 

Jim looked at her. “ ’T is learn, and not 
larn, I ’ll be sayin’,” he declared. 

“Not Z ’/Z he sayin\^' corrected Miss Slo- 
cum, “but I’ll say.’' 

Learn, not larn, and I ’ll say, not I ’ll he 
sayin’,” amended the obedient Jim, and then 
he sped away. 

And that night he did what never a child 
of Mrs. O’Callaghan’s had done before. The 
family were at supper. Pat, paying good 
heed to his tongue, was manifestly improv- 
ing, and the widow was congratulating him 
in her own way. 

“What did I be sayin’ to you, Pat dear.^ 
Did I be tellin’ you you was n’t too old 
to larn ? And I ’ll be sayin’ it again, so I 
will.” 

^^Larn’s not the right of it,” interrupted 
Jim. '' Learn ’s what you ought to be sayin’. 
I’ll he sayin’ ain’t right, nayther,” he con- 

[ 192 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


tinued. “It ’s I HI say,^’ and he looked very 
important. 

Pat and Andy regarded him in displeased 
astonishment, but the widow could take care 
of her own. 

“And it ’s glad I am to see that you know 
so much, Jim,” she said quietly. “What more 
do you know ? Let ’s hear it.” 

Thus brought to book Jim grew confused. 
He blushed and stammered under the unfavor- 
able regard of his mother and two older broth- 
ers, and finally confessed that he knew noth- 
ing more. At which Barnie and Tommie 
nudged each other. They did not understand 
what all the talk was about, but they could see 
that Jim was very red in the face, and not at 
all at his ease, and their beforetime hectored 
little selves rejoiced. 

“B’ys,” said the mother, “I told you if 
your blessed father was here he ’d not be 
above learning from any one, old or young. 

[ 193 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


And he would n’t, nayther. And sure he said 
larn himsilf. And from Jim here he ’d learn 
better than that, and he ’d learn, too, how 
them that knows very little is the quickest 
to make a show of it. But kape on, Jim. 
It ’s glad I am you know the difference be- 
twane larn and learn, and sure the only dif- 
ference is, that wan’s wrong and the other’s 
roight.” 

Jim had hoped to quite extinguish Andy by 
his corrections, and he hardly knew where he 
was when his mother finished; and he was 
still more abroad when Pat took him out after 
supper and vigorously informed him that 
bad manners were far worse than bad 
grammar. 

“Well, well,” thought the widow that eve- 
ning, as she waited alone for Pat, “ Jim do be 
gettin’ ahead of me, that he do. He ’s loike 
to have the consate, so he is, take him down 
as a body will. But there ’s wan good thing 

[ 194 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


about it. While he ’s studyin’ to beat us all 
on the talkin’ he ’s lettin’ the little b’ys alone 
famous. He did n’t never do much to ’em, 
but he jist riled ’em completely, so he did, 
and made ’em cross at iverybody.” 


[ 195 ] 


CHAPTER XIV 


A month went along very quietly, and fol- 
lowing that, another month. The weeds that 
had flourished along the sides of the ditches 
were all dead. No more did the squawking 
O’Callaghan geese delight themselves among 
them. The kitchen stove had long been 
brought back into the shanty, and Barney and 
Tommie, sitting close behind it on their short 
evenings that ended in bedtime at half-past 
seven o’clock, had only the remembrance of 
their labors. But that memory sweetened the 
prospect of savory dinners to come, for even 
Barney and Tommie liked to feel that they 
were of some importance in the family world. 
Often had their mother praised them for their 
care of the geese, and once she had bought for 
them a whole nickel’s worth of candy, and had 

L [ 196 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


bestowed this great treat with the word, 
“And how could I be havin’ geese only for 
the little b’ys ? You ’ll jist be givin’ Larry 
a bit, for sure and he ’ll be past four nixt 
summer, and helpin’ you loike anything.” 

The candy, like the summer, was only a 
memory now, but, without putting their hope 
into words, there lingered in the minds of 
the two an anticipation of more candy to 
come. 

As for Larry, he lived from day to day and 
took cheerfully whatever came his way, which 
he might well do, since he was a general pet 
wherever he was known. 

But now a new difficulty confronted the 
widow. Snow time had come. How was she 
to get Larry along to her wash places.?^ She 
was sitting late one Friday afternoon thinking 
about it. All day the snow had been falling, 
and many times, in the early dusk, had Jim 
been out to measure the depth with his legs. 

[ 197 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


And each time he returned he had worn a more 
gratified smile. 

“Well, Jim,” said his mother finally, “you 
do be grinnin’ foine ivery toime you come in, 
and a lot of wet you ’re bringin’ with you, too, 
a-stampin’ the snow off on the floor. You ’ll 
remimber that toimes are changed. Wanst it 
was old men as had the rheumatism, but now 
b’ys can have it, to say nothin’ of colds and 
sore throats and doctors’ bills. You ’ll stay 
in now. The snow can deepen without you, 
I ’m thinkin’.” 

Thus admonished, Jim went with a bad 
grace to wash his hands, and then to set the 
table for supper. 

Presently in came Pat. 

“Where’s the clothes-basket, mother 
he inquired. “ I ’ll be bringing in the clothes 
from the line for you.” 

Mrs. O’Callaghan handed him the basket 
with a smile, and out went Mr. Farnham’s 

[ 198 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


newest clerk to the summer kitchen, under 
whose roof the line was stretched in parallel 
lengths. 

I could n’t be dryin’ the clothes in the 
house with no place to put ’em, but the new 
kitchen ’s the thing, so ’t is,” the mother had 
said. “Clothes will dry there famous, ’spe- 
cially when it ’s rainin’ or snowin’. Pat and 
Moike did a good thing when they made it. 
I ’ve heard tell of them as has dryin’ rooms 
for winter, and ’t is mysilf has wan of 
them.” 

These were the words that had caused Pat 
to smile with pleasure, and had stirred Mike’s 
heart with determination to do yet more for 
his mother. And that same evening the 
widow’s sturdy second son came to the shanty, 
and behind him on the snow bumped and slid 
his newest handiwork — a sled for Larry to 
ride on. 

“And what have you got there asked 

[ 199 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Mrs. O’Callaghan, when he dragged it into 
the house. 

“A sled!” cried Barney and Tommie to- 
gether, pausing on their bedward way, and 
opening wide their sleepy eyes. 

“And ’t was mysilf was wonderin’ how to 
get Larry along with me!” exclaimed the 
mother, when Mike had explained the object 
of the sled. “ What ’s the good of me won- 
derin’ when I ’ve got Moike for my b’y ? 
’T was his father as would have made a sled 
jist loike it, I ’m thinkin’. But Moike,” as 
she saw the light of affection in his eyes, 
‘‘ you ’ll be spoilin’ me. Soon I ’ll not be won- 
derin’ any more, but I ’ll be sayin’, ‘ Moike 
will fix it some way.’ ” 

“Will you, mother cried the boy. “Will 
you promise me that.^” 

“Moike, Moike!” said the widow, touched 
by his eager look and tone, “what a b’y you 

are for questions! Would I be layin’ all my 
[ 200 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


burdens on you, when it ’s six brothers you Ve 
got ? ’T would n’t be fair to you. But to 
know you ’re so ready and willin’ loightens my 
ivery load, and it ’s a comfort you are to me. 
Your father was always for makin’ easy 
toimes for other people, and you ’re loike 
him, Moike. And now I ’ve something else 
to be talkin’ of. Will you be havin’ the goose 
for Gineral and Mrs. Brady to-morrow.?^” 

“I will, mother,” answered Mike, respect- 
fully. 

“Then, Moike, when you get ready to go 
back you ’ll find the foinest wan of the lot 
all by himsilf in a box Pat brought from the 
store. Mr. Farnham give it to him, though 
he mostly sells ’em. And I ’ve lamed that 
goose to slape in it, so I have, and an awful 
job it was, too. Geese and pigs, now, Moike, 
are slow to larn. But he knows his place at 
last, so he does, and you’ll foind him in it.” 

Then catching sight, around the corner of 
[ 201 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the table, of the enraptured two on the kitchen 
floor busy over the new family treasure, she 
cried: “Now, Barney and Tommie, to bed 
with you, and dream of havin’ the sled Satur- 
days, for that ’s what you shall have. ’T is 
Moike makes the treats for us all.” 

* * * * 

That evening at half-past nine there was a 
knock on the sitting-room door. 

“Come!” called the General. 

The door opened and in walked Mike 
with the sleek goose under his arm. 

“My mother’s sending you a goose, Mrs. 
Brady,” he said with a bow. 

The Bradys were already much attached to 
Mike; and the General had been heard to 
say that the very name of O’ Callaghan seemed 
to be a certificate of worthiness. So the goose 
was made much of, and the next time Mike 
went home he carried a bunch of roses from 
Mrs. Brady. 


[ 202 ] 





The enraptured two — busy over the new family treasure 




d 



\ 



I 



THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“And sure ’t is roses as are the gift of a 
lady!” cried Mrs. O’Callaghan, receiving the 
flowers with an air of pride. “There ’s some 
as would have took the goose as their due and 
have made you feel loike dirt under their feet 
while they was takin’ it. But the General and 
Mrs. Brady are quite another sort. And it ’s 
proud I am that they et the goose and found it 
good. Though it would n’t have been good 
nayther if you had n’t cooked it good, Moike. 
There ’s them as can cook ’most anything and 
have it good, jist as there ’s them as can spoil 
the best. And now, Moike, I ’ve news for 
you. But flrst do you notice how clean Jim 
kapes things ? Him and Andy makes a foine 
team, so they do.” 

Mike looked about him with a critical air 
that increased in mock severity as he saw little 
Jim rapidly donning his regalia of importance. 
“See a speck of dust if you can,” spoke Jim’s 
look. And then Mike was lavish with his praise. 

[ 203 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“You don’t keep Mrs. Brady’s things no 
cleaner, do you, Moike.?^” 

“I don’t, mother, for I can’t,” was the 
answer. Hearing which, Jim became pom- 
pous, and the widow judged that she might 
tell her news without unduly rousing up his 
jealousy. 

“Well, then, Moike, you ’ll niver be guessin’ 
the news, only maybe you ’ve heard it already, 
for ’t is school news. Andy ’s to be set ahead 
of his class into the nixt higher wan. It ’s 
proud I am, for ivery family needs a scholar, 
so it does.” 

Mike turned upon Andy a look of affection- 
ate interest. “ I had n’t heard your news, 
mother, but it ’s good news, and I ’m glad to 
hear it,” he said, heartily. 

“I knowed you would be glad, Moike, for 
’t is yoursilf as sees that when your brother 
gets up you get up with him. It ’s bad when 
wan brother thinks to be gettin’ ahead of 

[ 204 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


all the rest.” And she looked gravely at 
Jim. “Brothers are made each wan to do his 
part, and be glad when wan and another 
gets up.” 

But little Jim appeared discontented. All 
this praise of Andy quite took the edge off what 
he himself had received. His mother sighed. 

“But I ’ll not give him up yet,” she thought, 
after a moment. “No, I ’ll not give him up, 
for he ’s Tim’s b’y, though most unlike him. 
I do moind bearin’ wanst that Tim had a 
brother of that sort. Jim ’s loike him, no 
doubt, and he come to a bad end, so he did, 
a-gettin’ to be an agitator, as they calls ’em. 
And sure what ’s an agitator but wan that ’s 
sour at iverybody’s good luck but his own, 
and his own good luck turnin’ out bad on ac- 
count of laziness and consate ? I’m needin’ 
more wisdom than I’ve got when I’d be 
dealin’ with Jim.” 

While the mother sat silent her sons were 

[ 205 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


talking together in low tones. Andy and Jim 
told of the rabbits they had trapped in the 
hazel brush, and how they had eaten some 
and some they had sold in the stores. And 
Mike, in his turn, told them how many rabbits 
there were in the Brady neighborhood, and 
how nobody seemed to wish to have them dis- 
turbed. 

“What are they good for, if you can’t 
catch ’em asked Jim, who could never catch 
enough. 

“Good to look pretty hopping about, I 
guess,” responded Mike. 

“Huh!” exclaimed Jim, who, like many 
a one older than he, had small respect for 
opinions that clashed with his own. 

“He’ll be turnin’ to be an agitator sure, 
only maybe I can head him off,” thought the 
mother, who had been idly listening. 

“ Jim,” she said, “ ’t was your father as was 

iver for bearin’ both sides of iverything. If 
[ 206 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


there ’s them that thinks rabbits looks pretty 
jumpin’ around, why, no doubt they do. 
’T is n’t everybody that ’s trappin’, you ’ll 
moind. If you was a horse now, you ’d be 
called strong in the mouth, and you ’d need a 
firm hand on the lines. And if you ’d been 
brung up among horses, as your father was, 
you ’d know as them obstinate wans as wants 
the bits in their teeth are the wans as gets the 
beatin’s. You ’re no horse, but things will go 
crossways to you all your loife if you don’t do 
different. When there ’s nayther right nor 
wrong in the matter let iverybody have their 
own way.” 

And then little Jim became downright 
sulky. 

“Rabbits is for trappin’,” he said stub- 
bornly. 

“Well, well,” thought the widow, “I’ll 
have to be waitin’ a bit. But I ’ll be makin’ 

something out of Jim yet.” 

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THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Then she turned to Mike. “And how are 
you cornin’ on at the Gineral’s she inquired. 
“It ’s hopin’ I am you ’re watchin’ him close 
and lamin’ to be loike him.” 

“I’m trying, mother,” was the modest 
answer. 

Mrs. O’Callaghan nodded approvingly. 
“A pattern ’s a good thing for us all to go by,” 
she said. “Your father ’s gone, and you can 
only be loike him by heedin’ to what I ’m 
tellin’ you about him. But the Gineral you 
can see for yoursilves. If you can get to be 
loike your father and the Gineral both, it ’s 
proud I ’ll be of you. And I will say that 
you ’re a-comin’ to it, Moike. 

“And there’s another thing. The little 
b’ys has their chance, too. And it ’s because 
Andy here takes as natural to bein’ a gin- 
tleman as thim geese takes to squawkin’. 
Whether it ’s loikin’ his book, or what it is, 

he ’s the wan to have handy for the little 
[ 208 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


b’ys to pattern by. As far as he ’s gone he 
knows, and he can’t be beat in knowin’ 
how to treat other folks nice. And he ’s 
that quiet about what he knows that you 
would n’t think he knows anything, only for 
seein’ him act it out.” 

And now little Jim was completely miser- 
able. Constantly craving praise was little Jim, 
and the loss of it was torture to him. The 
widow glanced at him out of the corner of her 
eye. She saw it was time to relieve him. 

“But there’s wan thing Jim’s got that 
no other wan of my b’ys has,” she continued. 

Jim pricked up his ears. 

“ He ’s the born foighter, is Jim. If he was 
big now, and there was a war to come, he ’d 
be a soldier, I ’m thinkin’. He ’s for foightin’ 
i very thing, even the words of a body’s mouth.” 

This praise might be equivocal, but little 
Jim did not so understand it, and his pride 
returned. 

[ 209 ] 


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His mother observed it. “But what you 
need, Jim,” she went on, “is to be takin’ a 
tuck in yoursilf. Look at the Gineral. Does 
he go foightin’ in toimes of peace That he 
don’t. Will you look at the Gineral, Jim?” 

Now Pat and Mike had been instructed to 
look at the General as their pattern. This 
appeal was placing Jim alongside of his two 
big brothers. 

“Will you look at the Gineral, Jim ? ” re- 
peated Mrs. O’ Callaghan. 

“I will,” said Jim. 


[ 210 ] 


CHAPTER XV 


Jim was enterprising. Far more enter- 
prising than anybody gave him credit for. 
He had been set to copy the General, and 
that night as he lay down to sleep he resolved 
to outdo Pat and Mike. The little boys were 
insignificant in his eyes as he thought of what 
was before him, and even Andy offered small 
food for jealousy. To excel the two big boys 
was worth trying for. 

Now, the General was more familiar to 
Jim’s ears than to his eyes. He at once re- 
solved to remedy that. 

“I ’ll have to be followin’ him around and 
be seein’ how he does, so I will,” he told him- 
self. “And I ’ll have to be gettin’ my work 
done quick to be doin’ it.” 

Accordingly he hustled through the dish^ 
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THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


washing at a great rate the next morning, for 
his mother had lately decided that he might 
wash the dishes as well as wipe them. The 
dusting, usually carefully done, was a whisk 
here and a wipe there in the most exposed 
places. By such means did he obtain a half- 
hour of extra time, and off he went up the rail- 
road track on his way to General Brady’s. 
He soon came to the point where he must 
leave the track for the street, and, the street 
being comparatively unused, and so without a 
pavement, he was compelled to wade the 
snow. Into it with his short legs he plunged, 
only anxious to reach the house before the Gen- 
eral started downtown. And he was almost 
out of breath when he came to the corner and 
turned south on the cleared sidewalk. On he 
hurried, and around to the kitchen door. 

“Is he gone he inquired, poking his head 
into the room where his brother was busily 
washing dishes. 

[ 212 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Mike stared. The door had opened so 
softly, the words were so breathless, and the 
little boy so very red in the face. “Who.?” 
he asked, in astonishment. 

“The Gineral,’’ said Jim, impatiently. 

“ Just going,” returned Mike. And at the 
words Jim was out with the door shut behind 
him. 

“What’s got into little Jim.^^” thought 
Mike. Out of the yard flew Jim, and took 
on an air of indifferent loitering as he 
waited. Yes, there came the General. How 
broad his shoulders were! How straight 
his back! How firm his tread! At sight of 
all this little Jim squared himself, and, a half 
block in the rear, walked imitatively down 
the street. It was all very well for his 
mother to say that Jim was a born fighter. 
But she had entirely overlooked the fact 
that he was a born mimic also. 

Here and there a smiling girl ran to the 

[ 213 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


window to gaze after the two as they passed, — 
the stately old General and his ridiculous little 
copy. But it was when they neared the square 
that the guffaws began. The General, being 
slightly deaf, did not notice, and little Jim was 
so intent on following copy that he paid no 
attention. Thus they went the entire length 
of the east side of the square, and then along 
the south side until, at the southwest corner, 
the old soldier disappeared in the doorway of 
the bank. By this time little Jim’s shoulders 
were aching from the restraint put upon them, 
for Jim was not naturally erect. And his 
long walk at what was to him an unusually 
slow pace had made his nose blue with cold. 
But instead of running off to get warm he 
pressed close against the big window and 
peered in at his pattern. He knew his back 
and his walk now, and he wanted to see his 
face. 

Presently one of the amused spectators 

[ 214 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


stepped into the bank and spoke a few words 
to its president, and the Greneral turned to 
look at the little fellow. 

“Who is he.^^” he asked. 

“One of your O ’Callaghans, General,” 
was the laughing answer. 

The General flushed. Then he beckoned 
to Jim, who immediately came in. 

“Go back to the stove and get warm, my 
boy,” he said. “You look cold.” 

Jim obeyed, and presently the General’s 
friend went out. 

“Now, my boy,” said the General, walking 
back to the stove, “what did you mean by fol- 
lowing me. 

Little Jim’s blue eyes looked up into the 
blue eyes of the old soldier. “ Our eyes is the 
same color,” he thought. And then he 
answered: “My mother told me to be makin’ 
a pattern out of you. She told the same to 
Pat and Mike, too, and I ’m goin’ to do it 

[ 215 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


better than they do, see if I don’t. Why, they 
don’t walk fine and straight like you do. But 
I can do it. I lamed this morning.” 

The General laughed. “And what were 
you peering in at the window for.^” 

“Sure and I wanted to be watchin’ your 
face, so I did. ’T is my mother as says I ’m 
the born fighter, and she says, ‘Look at the 
General. Does he be goin’ round fightin’ in 
times of peace That he don’t.’ An’ she 
wants me to be like you, and I ’m goin’ to be.” 

“What’s your name.^” 

“Jim.” 

“Well, Jim, I don’t think your mother 
meant that you should follow me through the 
street and try to walk like me. And you must 
not do so any more.” 

“But I knows how now, sir,” objected Jim, 
who was loth to discard his new accomplish- 
ment. 

“Nevertheless, you must not follow me 
[ 216 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


about and imitate my movements any more,” 
forbade the General. 

“And how am I to be like you, then, if you 
won’t let me do the way you do.^^” 

For a moment the General seemed per- 
plexed. Then he opened the door and mo- 
tioned Jim out. “Ask your mother,” he said. 

“I won’t,” declared little Jim, obstinately, 
when he found himself in the street. “ I won’t 
ask her.” 

But he did. The coasting was excellent 
on a certain hill, and the hill was only a short 
distance northwest of the O’Callaghan home. 

“ T will do Andy good to have a bit of a 
change and eat wanst of a supper he ain’t 
cooked,” the widow had said. And so it was 
that she was alone, save for Larry, when Jim 
came in after school. Presently the whole 
affair of the morning came out, and Mrs. 
O’Callaghan listened with horrified ears. 

“And do you know how that looked to 

[ 217 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


them that seen you?” she asked severely. 
‘ ‘Sure and it looked loike you was makin’ 
fun of the Gineral.” 

“But I was n’t,” protested little Jim. 

“Sure and don’t I know that? Would a 
b’y of mine be makin’ fun of Gineral Brady ?” 

“He said I was n’t to do it no more,” con- 
fided little Jim, humbly. 

The widow nodded approbation. “And 
what did you say then?” she asked. 

“I says to him, ‘How can I get to be like 
you, sir, when you won’t let me do the way 
you do?’ ” 

“And then ?” 

“Then he opened the door, and his hand 
said, ‘Go outside.’ And just as I was goin’ 
he said, ‘Ask your mother.’ ” 

“ ’T was n’t for naught he got made a gin- 
eral,” commented Mrs. O’Callaghan. “ ’T is 
himsilf as knows a b’y’s mother is the wan. 

For who is it else can see how he ’s so full of 
[ 218 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


brag he ’s like to boorst, and a-wantin’ to do 
big things till he can’t dust good nor wash the 
plates clean ? Dust on the father’s chair, 
down on the rockers where you thought it 
would n’t show, and egg on the plates, and 
them piled so slick wan on top of the other 
and lookin’ as innocent as if they felt thimsilves 
quite clean. Ah, Jim! Jim!” 

The widow’s fourth son blushed. He cast 
a hasty glance over the room and was relieved 
to see that Larry, his mother’s only other 
auditor, was playing busily in a corner. 

Mrs. O’ Callaghan went on. She had Jim 
all to herself, and she meant to improve her 
chance. 

“You hain’t got the hang of this ambition 
business, Jim. That ’s the trouble. You ’re 
always tryin’ to do some big thing and beat 
somebody. ’T is well you should know the 
Lord niver puts little b’ys and big jobs to- 
gether. He gives the little b’ys a chance at 

[ 219 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the little jobs, and them as does the little jobs 
faithful gets to be the men that does the big 
jobs easy.” 

Jim now sought to turn the conversation, 
the doctrine of faithfulness in small things not 
being at all to his taste. “And will I be havin’ 
a bank, too, like the Gineral.^” he asked. 

His mother looked at him. “There you 
go again, Jim,” she said. “And sure how can 
I tell whether you ’ll have a bank or not ? 
’T is n’t all the good foightin’ men as has 
banks. But you might try for it. And if 
you ’ve got a bank in your eye, you ’d best pay 
particular attintion to your dustin’ and your 
dishwashin’. Them ’s your two first steps.” 

Little Jim pondered as well as he was able. 
It seemed to him that the first steps to every- 
thing in life, according to his mother, were 
dusting and dishwashing. His face was down- 
cast, and he put the dishes on the table in an 
absent-minded way. 


[ 220 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“What are you thinkin’ about, Jim?” 
asked his mother, after many a sidelong glance 
at him. “ Cheer up ! ” 

“Ain’t there no other first steps?” he 
asked, gloomily. 

“Not for you, Jim. And it’s lucky you 
are that you don’t loike the dustin’ and the 
dishwashin’.” 

Jim was evidently mystified. 

“Because, do you see, Jim, iverybody has 
got to larn sooner or later to do things they 
don’t loike to do. You ’ve begun in toime, 
so you have, and if you kape on, you can get 
a lot of it done before you come to the place 
where you can do what you loike, such as 
kapin’ a bank and that. But it ’s no busi- 
ness. The Gineral’s business was foightin’, 
you know. He kapes a bank jist to pass the 
toime.” 

Little Jim’s eyes widened. Here was a 
new outlook for him. 

[ 221 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“But you must do ’em good,” admonished 
the mother. “There’s nothin’ but bad luck 
goes with poor dustin’ and dirty dishwashin’. 
And spakin’ of luck, it ’s lucky you are I 
caught you at it the first toime you done ’em 
bad, for, do you see, I ’ll be lookin’ out for you 
now for a good bit jist to be seein’ that you ’re 
a b’y that can be trusted. It ’s hopin’ I am 
you ’ll be loike your father, for ’t was your 
father as could be trusted ivery toime. And 
now I ’ve a plan for you. We ’ll be havin’ 
Moike to show you how they lays the table at 
the Gineral’s. ’T will be a foine thing for you 
to larn, and ’t will surprise Pat, and be a good 
thing for the little b’ys to see. Them little 
b’ys don’t get the chance to see much other- 
wheres, and they ’ll have to be lamin’ their 
manners to home, so they will. Pat and 
Moike with the good manners about eatin’ 
they ’ve lamed at the Gineral’s, and the little 

b’ys without a manner to their back! Sure 
[ 222 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and ’t will be a lesson to ’em to see the table 
when you ’ve lamed to set it roight.” 

Jim brightened at once. He had had so 
much lesson himself to-day that it was a great 
pleasure to think of his younger brothers being 
instructed in their turn. In they came at that 
moment, their red little hands tingling with 
cold. But they were hilarious, for kind- 
hearted Andy had taken them to the hill, and 
over and over they had whizzed down its long 
length with him. At another time Jim might 
have been jealous; but to-night he regarded 
them from the vantage-ground of his superior 
information concerning them. They were to 
be instructed. And Jim knew it, if they did 
not. He placed the chairs with dignity, and 
hoped instruction might prove as unwelcome 
to Barney and Tommie as it was to him. And 
as they jounced down into their seats the 
moment the steaming supper was put upon the 
table, and gazed at it with eager, hungry eyes, 

[ 223 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and even gave a sniff or two, he felt that here 
was a field for improvement, indeed. And he 
smiled. Not that Jim was a bad boy, or a ma- 
licious one, but when Barney and Tommie 
were wrong, it was the thing that they should 
be set right, of course. 


CHAPTER XVI 

Pat had now been in Mr. Farnham’s 
employ two months and more, and never had 
his faithfulness slackened. He had caught the 
knack of measuring goods easily and tying up 
packages neatly. He could run off a length 
of calico and display it to any customer that 
came to him, and what most endeared him to 
Mr. Farnham was that he could sell. 

“Best clerk I ever had,” the merchant told 
himself. But he did not advance this “best 
clerk,” although Pat longed and hoped for 
promotion. Upon every opportunity he 
studied dress goods at the front end of the 
store, and carpets and cloaks at the rear. 
And day by day he went on patiently selling 
prints, ginghams, and muslins. 

“ ’T is the best things as are longest 

[ 225 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


a-comin’ sometimes,” said his mother encour- 
agingly. “Are you sellin’ what you Ve got as 
well as you know how?” 

“I am, mother.” 

“Well, if you are, be sure Mr. Farnham 
knows it, and, by the same token, he ’d be 
knowin’ it if you was gapin’ in the customers’ 
faces or hummin’ or whistlin’ soft loike while 
you waited on ’em. Mr. Wall had a clerk 
wanst that done that way. I ’ve seen him. 
And, by the same token, he ain’t got him now. 
Ladies don’t care for hummin’ and whistlin’ 
when they ’re buyin’ goods.” 

And now trade was growing heavier. The 
other clerks were overburdened, while Pat in 
his humble place had little to do. Suddenly 
there came a call for him at the dress counter. 
A lady had come in and both the other clerks 
were busy. She was one who continually 
lamented, in an injured tone of voice, that she 

lived in so small a town as Wennott, and she 
[ 226 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


rarely made purchases there. Her name was 
Mrs. Pomeroy. 

“Let us see if Pat sells her anything. It 
will be a wonder if he does,” thought Mr. 
Farnham. 

Languidly Mrs. Pomeroy examined this 
and that in an uninterested way, and all the 
time Pat was paying the closest attention, try- 
ing to discover just what she wanted. His 
heart was beating fast. If only he could make 
a sale, what might it not mean to him ? 

“Here is a pattern for a street dress, 
madam.” Pat’s voice was musical, and his 
manner most respectful. Mrs. Pomeroy felt 
interested and attracted at once. She looked 
on while Pat drew out the dress pattern from 
its box, displaying to advantage its soft color- 
ing and fine texture. 

Mrs. Pomeroy put her head on one side 
and regarded it through half-shut eyes. 

“The only pattern of exactly its sort and 

[ 227 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


color,” said the persuasive voice of Pat. He 
had learned from the other clerks that this was 
a great recommendation to a piece of goods 
and helped to sell it. 

Mrs. Pomeroy reflected. 

She asked the price and reflected again, 
and all the time she noticed that Pat’s interest 
was real and not simulated ; that he was doing 
his best to please her. She liked the goods, 
but not better than a pattern she had seen at 
Wall’s. But Wall’s clerks were inattentive 
and indifferent. They had an air that said, 
“ There are* the goods. Buy ’em or leave ’em. 
’T is nothing to us.” 

She was thinking of this as well as of 
the dress goods before her, and she finally 
said, “You may wrap the pattern up. I 
will take it.” 

Then did Pat’s eyes dance with delight, 
and he thought of his mother. But it was only 

a glancing thought, for in a second he was 
[ 228 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


saying: “Mr. Farnham has gloves to 
match.” 

“I will look at them.” 

To look was to buy when Pat was sales- 
man, and in a few moments, the happiest clerk 
in the store, Pat walked modestly back to his 
own place. 

“Well done, Pat!” exclaimed Mr. Farn- 
ham, going up to him. “ I wish you would 
keep an eye on the dress counter, and when- 
ever another clerk is needed, attend there.” 

“I wdll, sir,” answered Pat, gratefully. 

Three times more was Pat needed before 
the day closed, and every time he made a good 
sale. 

As usual, Mrs. O’Callaghan was waiting 
alone for Pat. She was extremely tired and 
almost despondent. For to earn what she 
could and keep her sons up to the mark she 
had set for them was a great strain on her. 
And she missed her husband. More and more 

[ 229 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


she missed him. “Ah, Tim ! ” she cried, “ ’t was 
a great thing you done for me when you taught 
our b’ys that moind me they must, and that 
without questions about it. Only for that I 
could n’t do much with ’em. And without 
you it ’s hard enough, so it is. I hain’t never! 
laid finger on wan of them, and I won’t 
nayther, for sure they ’re not beasts but b’ys. 
I mistrust my hardest toimes are ahead of me. 
Pat and Moike and Andy don’t trouble me 
none. Sure and a bloind man can see them 
three is all roight. But Jim and Barney and 
Tommie and Larry now — how can I be tellin’ 
what ’s cornin’ of them ? And I can’t set the 
big b’ys over ’em, only to take care of ’em loike, 
for sure b’ys as are worth anything won’t be 
bossed by their big brothers. They sees the 
unfairness of it.” 

And then intruding upon her thoughts 
came a boy’s merry whistle; a whistle that 
told of a heart where happiness was bubbling 

[ 230 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


up and overflowing, and the whistling came 
nearer and nearer. 

“Whativer do be makin’ Pat come home 
with a tune loike that?” she asked. And she 
half rose as Pat’s hand opened the door and 
the tall young fellow stepped in. The tiny 
lamp was very bright, and in it’s light the 
boy’s eyes were brilliant. 

“Well, Pat!” exclaimed his mother. “The 
lamp ’s but a poor match for your eyes to- 
night. You ’ve got news for me. What is it ? ” 

And Pat told with an eager tongue how, at 
last, he had a chance to attend at the dress 
counter when the two regular clerks there were 
busy and another one was needed. 

The widow was silent a moment. It was 
not quite what she had hoped to hear, know- 
ing her Pat as she did, but she was determined 
to keep her son’s courage up. So she said, 
“Well, then, if you ’ve got so far, it rests with 
yoursilf to go farther. ’T is a blessed thing 

[ 231 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


that there are such a many things in this world 
a-restin’ on a body’s lone silf. But there ’s 
them that never foinds it out, and that goes 
about layin’ their own blame here, there, and 
yon.” 

Pat’s elation lasted him overnight and even 
well on into the next day. And that day was 
more wonderful than the one before it. For, 
about the middle of the forenoon. General 
Brady came into the store and walked back to 
Mr. Farnham’s desk, giving Pat a smile and 
a bow as he passed him, and receiving in 
return an affectionate look. The one evening 
a week with the General had not served to 
diminish the boy’s fondness for him, but it 
had served to make Pat a greater favorite than 
ever with the old soldier. 

“Mr. Farnham,” said the General, after 
a few pleasant words had been exchanged, 
“Mr. Wall offers thirty dollars a month for 
Pat. Do you wish to keep him?” 

[ 232 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“I suppose I shall have to come up to 
Wall’s offer if I do?” 

“ Exactly,” was the response, with a smile. 
The General was delighted with Pat’s success, 
and he could not help showing it. 

“Pat is getting himself a reputation among 
your customers,” he remarked, pleasantly. 

“Frankly, General,” replied Mr. Farnham, 
“he ’s the best boy I ever had. He shall have 
his thirty dollars.” 

If the whistle was merry the night before, 
it was mad with joy on that Wednesday eve- 
ning. 

“Pat! Pat! what ails you?” cried his 
mother, as the boy came bounding in with a 
shout and a toss of his cap. “You ’ll be 
wakin’ your brothers.” 

“I’d like to wake ’em, mother,” was 
the jubilant answer. “I ’ve got news that ’s 
worth wakin’ ’em for.” 

“And what is it?” was the eager question. 

[ 233 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


, “Well, mother, then it’s this. I’m to 
have thirty dollars a month and to stay at 
the dress counter.” 

“Pat! Pat!” exclaimed the little woman, 
excited in her turn. “ It ’s forty years old I 
am, and sure and I know better than to be 
wakin’ b’ys out of their slape jist to be bearin’ 
a bit of news. But I ’m goin’ to wake ’em. 
They shall be knowin’ this night what comes 
to a b’y that does his best when he ’s got Gin- 
eral Brady to back him. And would Gineral 
Brady back you if you did n’t desarve it ? 
That he would n’t. I ain’t heard nothin’ of 
his backin’ up street loafers nor any sort of 
shiftless b’ys.” 

The boys were awakened, and a difficult 
task it was. But when, at last, they were all 
thoroughly roused, and were made to under- 
stand that there was no fire, nor any uproar 
in the streets, nor a train off the track, they 
stared about them wonderingly. And when 

[ 234 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


they had been told of Pat’s good fortune, “Is 
that all?” asked jealous little Jim, and down 
went his red head on the pillow, and shut went 
his eyes in a twinkling. Barney and Tommie, 
who knew not the value of money, gazed sol- 
emnly at their mother and Pat and then into 
each other’s eyes and composedly laid them- 
selves down to renewed slumber. And Larry 
howled till the windows rattled, for Larry was 
a strong child for his years, and never before 
had he been waked up in the night. But 
Andy sat up in bed and clasped his brother’s 
hand in both his while his face showed his 
delight. 

And then something happened to Andy. 
His mother, disgusted at the conduct of the 
little boys, put her arm around his neck and 
kissed him. 

“It’s a jewel you are, Andy,” she said, 
“with good understandin’ in you. You ’ll be 
wakin’ up Pat in the noight some day.” 

[ 235 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Huh!” thought jealous little Jim, who 
was feigning sleep. 

“Now, mother,” said Pat, when the tiny 
lamp stood once more on the kitchen table, 
and the two sat beside the stove, “will you 
give up two of your wash places 

“Not I, Pat dear. With six of us, not 
countin’ you and not countin’ Moike, who 
cares for himsilf, we need all the money we 
can honestly get.” 

“Only one, then, mother; only one. My 
good luck is no comfort to me if I can’t think 
of your getting a day’s rest every week out 
of it.” 

The widow regarded him earnestly. She 
saw how her refusal would pain him and 
she yielded. “Well, then,” she said, “wan 
place, Pat dear, I ’ll give up. And it ’ll 
be Wednesday, because ’t was on a Wednesday 
that your luck come to you.” 

Another month went by and the holiday 

[ 236 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


trade was over. Nevertheless the amount 
of custom at Mr. Farnham’s did not diminish 
much. Ladies who went out on looking 
tours, if they began at Farnham’s ended 
there by purchasing. If they stopped first 
at Wall’s they went on to Farnham’s and 
bought there. Mr. Wall was not blind. 
And so, one day General Brady walked 
into Mr. Farnham’s store and back to his 
desk again. 

‘‘Another rise.^^” asked the merchant, 
laughingly. 

“Something of the sort,” was the re- 
joinder. “Mr. Wall offers forty dollars a 
month for Pat.” 

“He doesn’t take him, though,” was 
the significant answer. 

The General laughed. “I see you ap- 
preciate him,” he said. 

“Well, to tell the truth. General, I know 

mv right-hand man when I see him, and 
[ 237 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Pat O’ Callaghan is his name. I only wish 
there were two of him.” 

The General’s face grew thoughtful. 

“There may be,” he said at length. “His 
next brother, Mike, is at our house, and 
just as much of a born trader as Pat. His 
ways, however, are a little different.” 

Mr. Farnham put out his hand. “I 
take this hint as very kind of you. General. 
When may I have him.^^” 

“ Could you wait till next fall ? He ought 
to finish this school year. Next winter I 
could take charge of him one evening a week 
together with Pat. The terms must be the 
same for him as they were for Pat when he 
began,— fifteen dollars a month and one 
evening each week out.” 

“All right. General. I’ll be frank with 
you, — I ’m glad to get him on those terms. I 
begin to think that it ’s enough of a recom- 
mendation for a boy to be an O’Callaghan.” 

[ 238 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


The General smiled as he left Mr. Farn- 
ham’s desk, and on his way out of the store, 
he stopped to speak to Pat. 

“ What is your greatest ambition, my boy ?” 
he asked. And he knew what answer he 
would receive before Pat replied, “To have 
a store with ‘O’Callaghan Brothers’ over the 
door.” 

Again the General smiled, and this time 
very kindly. “ I ’ll tell you a sort of a secret,” 
he said, “that is n’t so much of a secret that 
you need to hesitate about speaking of 
it; Mike ’s coming to Mr. Farnham next 
fall.” 

Then the boy got hold of the man’s hand. 
“General Brady,” he began after a moment 
of silence, “you know I can’t thank you as 

I ought in words, but ” and then he 

stopped. This boy who could fight to defend 
his small brother, who could face contempt 
to ease his mother’s burdens, who could 

[ 239 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


grub and dig and win a chance for his own 
promotion, was very near to tears. 

He did not wish to shed those tears, and 
the General knew it. So with a hearty 
“Good by, Pat,” the fine old soldier passed 
on. 


[ 240 ] 


CHAPTER XVII 

The shanty by the tracks had never seen 
such rejoicing as occurred within its cheap 
walls that January evening. Pat had said 
nothing at supper -time of his wonderful 
news concerning Mike. He knew how 
anxious his brother would be to tell it him- 
self, and he had left the tale of his own ad- 
vancement to follow Mike’s disclosure. For 
he felt sure that he should find Mike upon 
his return from the store at nine o’clock, 
and that he would spend the night at home, 
as he sometimes did. Many times that day 
he glanced at the print and gingham counter 
and imagined Mike’s sturdy figure behind 
it. Pat’s hands were long and slender, while 
Mike’s were of the sort known as “useful.” 
“Before ever he comes in he shall know 

[ 241 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


how to measure and display goods, and how 
to make neat packages,” he thought. “I’ll 
teach him myself odd times.” 

And then followed visions of the increased 
comfort to come to the shanty. He saw 
his mother, with never a wash place, staying 
at home every day to guide and control the 
little boys. He saw Andy, quiet, studious 
Andy, moving gently about in General Brady’s 
house, and the thought came to him that the 
General would probably like him better 
than he did either Mike or himself, though 
Andy would never be much of a hand at 
marketing. And then came the most daring 
thought of all — “Andy shall go to college. 
Mike and I will help him to it.” 

But never an opportunity of making a 
sale did Pat miss. With that last decision 
to send Andy to college he had hung upon 
himself a new weight. Not a weight that 
oppressed and bent him down, but a weight 

[ 242 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


that caused him to hold his head up and 
resolve, as never before, to do his best. 

“Andy’s not strong,” his busy brain, in 
the intervals of trade, ran on. “But with 
Mike on one side of him and me on the 
other, he ’ll get to the place where he can 
do his best. General Brady is helping Mike 
and me. It ’s a pity if the two of us can’t 
help Andy.” 

It was hard to keep still at supper-time, 
but Pat succeeded, only allowing himself to 
bestow a look of particular affection on his 
favorite brother. 

But his mother was not to be deceived. 
She followed him to the door, and, putting 
her head outside, said softly, “You may 
kape still if you want to, Pat dear, but ’t is 
mysilf as knows you ’ve somethin’ on your 
moind.” 

“Well, then, mother,” prophesied Pat, 
with a laughing backward glance, “I think 

[ 243 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 

Mike will be over to spend the evening with 
you.” And he was off. 

“And what does he mean by that.^” 
wondered Mrs. O’Callaghan, looking after 
him. “There’s somethin’ astir. I felt it 
by the look of him.” 

She turned back and shut the door, 
and there was little Jim loitering as if he 
hardly knew whether to wash the dishes 
or not. 

“ ’T is the bank that ’s ahead of you, do 
you moind, Jim ? Hurry up with your dish- 
pan. Pat was sayin’ maybe Moike ’ll be 
home this evenin’.” 

In response to this urging little Jim 
made a clatter with the dishes that might 
be taken by some to represent an increase 
of speed, but his mother was not of that 
number. 

“Come, Jim,” she said, “less n’ise. If 
you was hustlin’ them thin china dishes 

[ 244 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


of Mrs. Gineral Brady’s loike that there ’d 
be naught left of ’em but pieces — and dirty 
pieces, too, for they ’d all be broke before 
you ’d washed wan of ’em.” 

“I ain’t never goin’ to wash any of Mrs. 
Gineral Brady’s dishes,” remarked Jim, 
calmly. 

“You ’re young yet, Jim, to be sayin’ 
what you ’re goin’ to do and what not,” 
was the severe response. “At your age 
your father would niver have said he would 
or he would not about what was a long way 
ahead of him, for your father was wise, and 
he knowed that ne’er a wan of us knows 
what ’s cornin’ to us.” 

But Jim’s countenance expressed indif- 
ference. “Gineral Brady’s got a bank with- 
out washin’ dishes for it,” he observed. 

The widow stared. This was a little 
nearer to impertinence than anything she 
had before encountered. 

[ 245 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


‘‘You moind the Gineral made gravy, 
do you?’’ she said at last, — “and good 
gravy, too?” 

Jim was obliged to own that he remem- 
bered it. 

“And that he done it with an apron on 
to kape from gettin’ burnt and spattered?” 

Jim nodded. 

“Him that ain’t above makin’ gravy, 
ain’t above washin’ dishes, nayther,” was 
the statement made in Mrs. O’Callaghan’s 
most impressive manner. “Show Gineral 
Brady a pile of dishes that it was his place to 
wash, and he ’d wash ’em, you may depind. 
’T is iver the biggest folks as will do little 
things loike that when they has to, and do 
’em good, too. What ’s got into you, Jim?” 

“You think Pat and Mike and Andy’s 
better than me,” burst out the jealous little 
fellow. 

“I think,” said his mother, “that Pat 

[ 246 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and Moike and Andy does better than you, 
for they takes what ’s set for ’em and does 
it as good as they can. But you ’re all 
Tim’s b’ys, so you are.” 

‘‘If I done like Pat and Mike and Andy,” 
asked Jim, hesitatingly, “would you think 
I was just as good.^^” 

“Sure and I would, Jim,” said his mother, 
earnestly. “Will you try?” 

“I will.” 

And then steps crunched on the snowy 
path that led to the shanty door, and Mike 
came in. There was that in his face that 
told his mother without a word that he 
brought good news. 

“Moike! Moike! ’T is the shanty’s the 
luckiest place in town, for there ’s naught 
but good news comes to it, do you see? 
What have you got to tell?” 

“I’ve got to tell,” cried Mike, in ringing 

tones, “that next fall I ’m to go to Mr. Farn- 
[ 247 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ham’s store at fifteen dollars a month. Pat 
sha’n’t do all for you, mother. I ’ll do some 
myself.” 

For a moment the widow was dazed. 
Then she said, “I don’t know what I was 
lookin’ for, but it was n’t anything so good 
as this. ’T was Gineral Brady got you the 
place, was it.^” 

“It was, mother.” 

“ I knowed it. He ’s the man to be 
loike.” She looked around upon her sons, 
and then she said, “I want all my b’ys to 
remimber that it ’s honorable empl’yment 
to do anything in the world for Gineral 
Brady and Mrs. Gineral Brady, too. The 
toime may come when you can do some 
big thing for ’em, but the toime ’s roight 
here when you can sweep and cook and 
wash dishes for ’em, and make ’em aisy 
and comfortable, and so lingthen out their 
days. Moike goin’ to the store gives Andy 

[ 248 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


a chance to show that the O ’Callaghans 
know how to be grateful. And, Moike, 
you ’ll be takin’ home another goose for 
^em when you go. A goose ain’t much, 
but it shows what I ’d do if I had the chance. 
And that ’s all that makes a prisint seem 
good anyway — jist to know that the giver’s 
heart is warm toward you.” 

She paused and then went on, “Well, 
well, and that ’s what Pat was kapin’ still 
about at supper-toime. I could see that he 
knowed somethin’ that he would n’t tell. 
He ’d be givin’ you the chance to bring 
your own good news, Moike, do you see.?^ 
Pat ’s the b’y to give other folks the chances 
as is their due. There ’s them that fond of 
gabblin’ and makin’ a stir that they ’d have 
told it thimsilves, but sure O’Callaghan 
ain’t their name.” 

At this every face grew bright, for even 
Barney and Tommie saw that no undue 

[ 249 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


praise of Pat was meant, but that, as O’ Cal- 
laghans, they were all held incapable of 
telling other people’s stories, and they lifted 
their heads up. All but Larry who, with 
sleepily drooping crown, was that moment 
taken up and prepared for bed. 

“And now, Moike,” said Mrs. O’Cal- 
laghan, when Larry had been disposed of, 
“ ’t is fitting you should sit to-night in the 
father’s chair. Sit you down in it.” 

“Not I, mother,” responded the gallant 
Mike. “ Sit you in it, and ’t will be all the 
same as if I sat there myself.” 

“Well, well, Moike,” said the widow, 
with a pleased smile, “have it your own 
way. Rape on tryin’ to spoil your mother 
with kindness. ’T is somethin’ you lamed 
from your father, and I ’ll not be denyin’ it 
makes my heart loight.” 

And then the talk went on to Andy’s 
promotion to General Brady’s kitchen. 

[ 250 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“Andy and me won’t be a team then,” 
put in little Jim. “ I ’ll run things myself. 
I guess I can cook.” 

“Well said, Jim!” cried his mother. “To 
be sure you can cook, — when you ’ve lamed 
how. There ’s them that takes to cookin’ 
by nature, I ’ve heard, but I ’ve niver seen 
any of ’em. There ’s rules to iverything, 
and iverybody must larn ’em. For ’t is the 
rule that opens the stingy hand, and shuts 
a bit the ginerous wan, and so kapes all 
straight.” 

But little Jim turned a deaf ear to his 
mother’s wisdom. He was thinking what 
wonderful dishes he could concoct, and how 
often they would have pudding. Pudding 
was Jim’s favorite food, and something sel- 
dom seen on the widow’s table. Little Jim 
resolved to change the bill of fare, and to go 
without pudding only when he must. He 
could not hope to put his plans into operation 

[ 251 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


for many months to come, however; so, with 
a sigh, he opened his eyes and ears again to 
what was passing around him, and was just 
in time to see Barney and Tommie marching 
to bed an hour later than usual. They had 
been permitted to sit up till half-past eight 
in honor of Mike’s good fortune. Had their 
mother known all, they might have stayed 
in the kitchen engaged in the difficult task 
of keeping their eyes open at least an hour 
longer. But they were fast enough asleep 
in their bed when Pat came gayly in. 

“ Ah, Pat, my b’y, you kept still at supper- 
toime famous, so you did, but the news is 
out,” began Mrs. O’Callaghan. “It’s 
Moike that ’s in luck, and sure he desarves 
it.” 

“That he does, mother,” agreed Pat 
heartily. “But will you say the same for 
me if I tell you something.^” 

The widow regarded him anxiously. 

[ 252 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


There could not be bad news! “Out with 
it quick, Pat!” she cried. 

“Well, then, mother,” said Pat, with mock 
resignation in his tone and a sparkle of fun 
in his eye, “I’m to have forty dollars a 
month.” 

“Forty dollars!” repeated the mother. 
“Forty dollars! That’s the Gineral’s do- 
in’s again. B’ys, I ’d be proud to see any 
wan of you crawl on your knees to serve 
the Gineral. Look at all he ’s done for us, 
and us doin’ nothin’ to desarve it, only doin’ 
our best.” 

And there were tears in the widow’s eyes. 

“But, mother,” resumed Pat, “’tis your- 
self has the bad luck.” 

“And what do you mean, Pat.^” 

“You ’ve lost another wash place to- 
night.” 

Mrs. O’Callaghan smiled. “Are you sure 
of it.^^” she asked. 


[ 253 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“I am,” was the determined answer. 

“Have it your own way. You and Moike 
are headstrong b’ys, so you are. If you 
kape on I ’ll have nothin’ to do but to sit 
with my hands folded. And that ’s what 
your father was always plazed to see me 
do.” 

The two brothers exchanged glances of 
satisfaction, while Andy looked wistfully on, 
and little Jim frowned jealously. 

“Now, mother,” said Pat, “I’ve the 
thought for you. It came to me to-day 
in the store. ’T is the best thought ever 
I had. Andy ’s going to college.” 

The delicate boy started. How had Pat 
divined the wish of his heart? 

“ ’T is Andy that will make us all proud 
if only he can go to college,” concluded 
this unselfish oldest brother. 

The widow glanced at the lit-up coun- 
tenance and eager eyes of her third son, 

[ 254 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and, loth to rouse hopes that might later 
have to be dashed down, observed, ‘‘Thim 
colleges are ixpinsive, I belave.” 

Andy’s face clouded with anxiety. There 
must be a chance for him, or Pat would not 
have spoken with so much certainty. 

“They may be,” replied Pat, “but Andy 
will have Mike on one side of him and 
me on the other, and we ’ll make it all 
right.” 

“That we will,” cried Mike enthusias- 
tically. “ By the time he needs to go I ’ll be 
making forty dollars a month myself, and 
little Jim will be earning for himself.” Sturdy 
Mike as he spoke cast an encouraging look 
on his favorite brother, who laid by his 
frown and put on at once an air of im- 
portance. 

“I’m goin’ to be a foightin’ man loike 
the Gineral,” he announced pompously. 

“Well, well,” cried the widow. “I’m 

[ 255 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


gettin’ old fast. You ’ll all be growed up 
in a few minutes.” 

And then they all laughed. 

But presently the mother said, “Thank 
God for brothers as is brothers. Andy is 
goin’ to college sure.” 


[ 256 ] 


CHAPTER XVni 


Summer - time came again. The stove 
went out into the airy kitchen, and a larger 
flock of geese squawked in the weeds and 
ditches. Again Andy and Jim drove the 
cows, Andy of a morning with a dreamy 
stroll, and Jim of an evening with a strut 
that was intended for a military gait. Who 
had told little Jim of West Point the family 
did not know. But he had been told by 
somebody. 

And his cows were to him as a battahon 
to be commanded. The General used to 
watch him from his front veranda with a 
smile. Somewhere Jim had picked up the 
military salute, and he never failed to honor 
the General with it as he strutted past with 
his cows. And always the old soldier re- 

[ 257 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


sponded with an amused look in his eyes 
which Jim was too far away to see, even 
if he had not been preoccupied with his 
own visions. Jim was past ten now, and 
not much of a favorite with other boys. But 
he was a prime favorite with himself. 

“West P’int,” mused Mrs. O’Callaghan. 
“Let him go there if he can. ’T will be better 
than gettin’ to be an agitator.” 

The widow continued her musings, and 
finally she asked, “ Where is West P’int, Jim ? ” 
“ It ’s where they make foightin’ men 
out of boys.” 

“Is it far from here.^” 

“I don’t know. I can get there any- 
way.” His mother looked at him and she 
saw pugnacity written all over him. His 
close-cropped red hair, which was of a 
beautiful shade and very thick, stood straight 
on end all over his head. His very nature 
seemed belligerent. 


[ 258 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“The trouble with you, Jim,” she said, 
“is that you ’d iver go foightin’ in toimes of 
peace. Foight when foightin’ ’s to be done, 
and the rest of the toime look plissant loike 
the Gineral.” 

“I ain’t foightin’ in times of peace any 
more,” responded little Jim, confidentially. 
“ I ain’t licked a boy for three weeks. Mebbe 
I won’t lick any one all summer.” 

His mother sighed. “I should hope you 
wouldn’t, Jim,” she said. “ ’T is n’t gintle- 
manly to be lickin’ any wan with your fist.” 

“And what would I be lickin’ ’em with?’’’ 
inquired Jim, wonderingly. 

“You ’re not to be lickin’ ’em at all. 
Hear to me now, Jim, and don’t be the only 
wan of your father’s b’ys I ’ll have to punish. 
Wait till you get to your West P’int, and larn 
when and where to foight. Will you, Jim.?” 

Little Jim reflected. The request seemed 
a reasonable one, and so “I will,” said he. 

[ 259 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Evening after evening he drove the cows 
and gave his commands at the corners of 
the streets. And the cows plodded on, swing- 
ing their tails to brush the flies away from 
their sides, stopping here and there where 
a mouthful of grass might be picked up, 
stirring the dust in dry weather with their 
dragging feet, and sinking hoof-deep in the 
mud when there had been rain. But always 
little Jim was the commander, — even when 
the rain soaked him and ran in rills from 
his hat brim. 

On rainy mornings Andy, wearing rub- 
ber boots and a rubber coat and carrying 
an umbrella, picked his way along, following 
his obedient charges to the pasture gate. 
But little Jim liked to have bare legs and 
feet and to feel the soft mud between his 
toes, and the knowledge that he was getting 
wetter and wetter was most satisfactory to 

him. At home there was always a clean 
[ 260 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


shirt and a pair of cottonade pantaloons 
waiting for him, and nothing but a “Well, 
Jim!” by way of reproof. 

“File right!” little Jim would cry, or 
“File left!” as the case might be. And when 
the street corner was turned, “Forward!” 

All this circumstance and show had its 
effect on the two small Morton boys and 
at last, on a pleasant June evening, they 
began to mock him. 

Jim stood it silently for a quarter of a 
second, while his face grew red. Then he 
burst out, “I’d lick both of you, if I was 
sure this was a where or when to foight!” 

His persecutors received this information 
with delight, and repeated it afterward to 
their older brother, with many chuckles. 

“Lucky for you!” was his answer. “He 
can whip any boy in town of your size.” 
Whereat the little fellows grew sober, and 

recognized the fact that some scruple of 
[ 261 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Jim’s not understood by them had probably 
saved them unpleasant consequences of their 
mockery. 

Jim’s ambition, in due time, came to the 
ears of General Brady, and very soon there- 
after the old soldier, who had now taken the 
whole O’Callaghan family under his charge, 
contrived to meet the boy. 

“ Jim,” said he, “ I hear you ’re quite 
set on West Point. I also hear that you did 
not stand well in your classes last year. I 
advise you to study hard hereafter.” 

Jim touched his hat in military style. 
“ What ’s lamin’ your lessons got to do with 
bein’ a foightin’ man, sir.^^” he asked respect- 
fully. 

“A great deal, my boy. If you ever 
get to West Point you will have to study 
here, and you will have to go to school there 
besides.” 

Jim sighed. “You can’t get to be noth- 

[26?1 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


in’ you want to be without doin’ a lot you 
don’t want to do,” he said despondently. “I 
was goin’ to have a bank loike you, sir, but 
my mother said the first steps to it was dustin’ 
and dishwashin’, so I give up the notion.” 

The General laughed and little Jim went 
his way, but he remembered the General’s 
words. As the summer waned and the time 
for school approached the cows heard no 
more “File right! File left! Forward!” Lit- 
tle Jim had no love for study, and he drove 
with a “Hi, there! Get along with you!” 
But it was all one to the cows. And so his 
dreams of West Point faded. He began to 
study the cook-book, for now Andy was to go 
to General Brady’s, and on two days of the 
week he was to make the family happy with 
his puddings. Mrs. O’Callaghan, having but 
two days out now, had decided to do the 
cooking herself on those days when she was 
at home. 


[ 263 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


But never a word said little Jim to his 
mother on the subject of puddings. “I 
can read just how to make ’em. I ’ll not 
be botherin’ her,” he thought. “Pat and 
Mike is always wantin’ her to take it aisy. 
She can take it aisy about the puddin’, so 
she can.” 

The week before school began his mother 
had given him some instructions of a general 
character on cooking and sweeping and bed- 
making. “I’m home so much, Jim,” she 
told him, “that I’ll let you off with makin’ 
the bed where you ’re to slape with Mike. 
That you must make so ’s to be lamin’ 
how.” 

“Wan bed’s not much,” said little Jim, 
airily. 

“See that you makes it good, then,” was 
the answer. 

“And don’t you be burnin’ the steak 
nor soggin’ the potatoes,” was her parting 

[ 264 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


charge when she went to her washing on 
Monday, the first day of school. 

“Sure and I won’t,” was the confident 
response. “I know how to cook steak and 
potatoes from watchin’ Andy.” 

That night after school little Jim stepped 
into Mr. Farnham’s store. “I’m needin’ 
a few raisins for my cookin’,” he said to Pat. 

Pat looked surprised, but handed him 
the money, and little Jim strutted out. 

“What did Jim want.^” asked Mike when 
he had opportunity. 

“Raisins for his cooking.” And both 
brothers grinned. 

“I’ll just be doin’ the hardest first,” 
said little Jim as, having reached home, he 
tossed off his hat, tied on his apron, and 
washed his hands. “And what’s that but 
the puddin’.^^” 

He slapped the pudding-dish out on the 
table, opened his paper of raisins, ate two 

[ 265 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


or three just to be sure they were good, 
and then hastily sought the cook-book. It 
opened of itself at the pudding page, which 
little Jim took to be a good omen. “Pud- 
din’ ’s the thing,” he said. 

“Now, how much shall I make? Barney 
and Tommie is awful eaters when it comes 
to somethin’ good, and so is Larry. I ’d 
ought to have enough.” 

He read over the directions. 

“Seems to me this receipt sounds skimp- 
in’,” was his comment. “Somethin’ ’s got 
to be done about it. Most loike it was n’t 
made for a big family, but for a little wan 
loike General Brady’s.” 

He ate another raisin. 

“A little puddin’ ’s just nothin’,” he said. 
“I’ll just put in what the receipt calls for, 
and as much more of everything as it seems 
to need.” 

Busily he measured and stirred and tasted, 
[ 266 ] 





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THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and with every taste more sugar was added, 
for little Jim liked sweets. At last it was 
ready for the oven, even down to the raisins, 
which had been picked from their stems 
and all unwashed and unstoned cast into 
the pudding-basin. And never before had 
that or any other pudding-dish been so full. 
If Jim so much as touched it, it slopped over. 

“ And sure and that ’s because the pud- 
din’-dish is too little,” he remarked to him- 
self. “They’ll have to be gettin’ me a 
bigger wan. And how long will it take it 
to bake, I wonder Till it’s done, of 
course.” 

He turned to the stove, which was now 
in the house again, and the fire was out. 

“Huh!” exclaimed little Jim. “I’ll soon 
be makin’ a fire.” 

He rushed for the kindling, picking out 
a swimming raisin as he ran. “They’ll 
see the difference between Andy’s cookin’ 

[ 267 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and mine, I ’m thinkin’. Dustin’ and dish- 
washin’ ! Just as if I could n’t cook with 
the best of them!” 

The sugar was sifted over the table, his 
egg-shells were on the floor, and a path of 
flour led to the barrel when, three-quarters 
of an hour later, the widow stepped in. 
But there was a roaring Are and the pudding 
was baking. 

“Well, Jim,” cried his mother, “’tis 
a big fire you ’ve got, sure. But I don’t 
see no potatoes a-cookin’.” 

Jim looked blank. He had forgotten the 
potatoes. He had been so busy coaling 
up the fire. 

“Run and get ’em,” directed his mother. 
“There’s no toime for palin’ ’em. We’ll 
have to bile ’em with their jackets on.” 

But there was no time even for that, for 
Pat and Mike came in to supper and could 
not be kept waiting. 

[ 268 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Hastily the widow got the dishpan and 
washed off the sticky table, and her face, 
as Jim could see, was very sober. Then, 
while Jim set the table, Pat fried the steak 
and Mike brushed up the flour from the 
floor. 

And now a burnt smell was in the air. 
It was not the steak. It seemed to seep 
out of the oven. 

“Open the oven door, Jim,” commanded 
Mrs. O’Callaghan, after one critical sniff. 

The latest cook of the O’ Callaghans 
obeyed, and out rolled a cloud of smoke. 
The pudding had boiled over and flooded 
the oven bottom. Poor Jim! 

“What’s in the oven, Jim.? Perhaps 
you ’ll be tellin’ us,” said his mother, gravely. 

“My puddin’,” answered little Jim, very 
red in the face. 

At the word pudding the faces of Barney 
and Tommie and Larry, who had come 

[ 269 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


in very hungry, lit up. But at the smell 
they clouded again. A pudding lost was 
worse than having no pudding to begin with. 
For to lose what is within reach of his spoon 
is hard indeed for any boy to bear. 

“And what was it I told you to be cookin’ 
for supper asked the widow when they 
had all sat down to steak and bread and 
butter, leaving the doors and windows wide 
open to let out the pudding smoke. 

But little Jim did not reply and his down- 
cast look was in such contrast to his erect 
hair, which no failure of puddings could 
down, that Pat and Mike burst out laugh- 
ing. The remembrance of the raisins little 
Jim had so pompously asked for was upon 
them, too. And even Mrs. O’Callaghan 
smiled. 

“Was it steak and potatoes I told you 
to be cookin’ she persisted. 

Little Jim nodded miserably. 

[ 270 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“ I ’ll not be hard on you, Jim,” said 
his mother, “for I see you ’re ashamed of 
yourself, and you ought to be, too. But 
I ’ll say this to you ; them that cooks puddin’s 
when they ’re set to cook steak and potatoes 
is loike to make a smoke in the world, and 
do themsilves small credit. Let ’s have no 
more puddin’s, Jim, till I give you the word.” 

That was all there was of it. But Jim 
had lost his appetite for pudding, and it 
•was long before it returned to him. 


[ 271 ] 


CHAPTER XIX 


There were three to sit by the kitchen 
stove now and talk of an evening from half- 
past nine till ten, and they were the widow 
and Pat and Mike. 

“ It ’s Andy that makes me astonished 
quite,” observed Mrs. O’Callaghan. “Here 
it is the first of December and him three 
months at Gineral Brady’s and gettin’ fat 
on it. He niver got fat to home, and that ’s 
what bates me.” 

“Well, mother, he ’s got a nice big room 
by himself to sleep in. The physiology ’s 
down on crowding, and five boys in one bed- 
room ain’t good for a nervous boy like x\ndy.” 

“Nor it ain’t good for the rest of you, 
nayther,” responded Mrs. O’Callaghan, with 
conviction. 


[ 272 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“What do you say, b’ys? Shall we ask 
the landlord to put us on another room in the 
spring ? He ’ll raise the rint on us if he does.” 

The widow regarded her sons attentively, 
and they, feeling the proud responsibility 
of being consulted by their mother, answ^ered 
as she would have them. 

“Then that’s settled,” said she. “The 
more room, the more rint. Any landlord 
can see that — a lawyer, anyway. Do you 
think, b’ys, Andy ’ll be a lawyer when he 
comes from college.^” 

“Why, mother asked Pat. 

“ ’Cause I don’t want him to be. He 
ain’t got it in him to be cornin’ down hard 
and sharp on folks, and so he won’t be a 
good wan. He ’ll be at the law loike little 
Jim at puddin’s. You niver was to coort, 
was you, b’ys.^^” 

Pat and Mike confessed that they had 
never been at court. 

[ 273 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“ I knowed you had n’t. I jist asked 
you. Well, you see, b’ys, them lawyers gets 
the witnesses up and asks ’em all sorts of 
impudent questions, and jist as good as 
tells ’em they lies quite often. Andy could n’t 
niver do the loikes of that. ’T ain’t in 
him. Do you know, b’ys, folks can’t do what 
ain’t in ’em, no matter if they do go to col- 
lege. Now, little Jim ’s the wan for a 
lawyer. He ’d be the wan to make a man 
forget his own name, and all on account 
of impudent questions.” 

Pat and Mike looked surprised. They 
were both fond of little Jim, Mike particu- 
larly so. 

“ I see you wonders at me, but little 
Jim ’s a-worryin’ me. I don’t know what 
to be doin’ with him. B’ys, would you belave 
it? I can’t teach him a thing. Burn the 
steak he will if I lave him with it, and Moike 
knows the sort of a bed he makes. He ’s 

[ 274 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


clane out of the notion of that West P’int 
and bein’ a foightin’ man, and the teacher ’s 
down on him at the school for niver lamin’ 
his lessons. And the fear ’s with me night 
and day that he ’ll get to be wan of them 
agitators yet.” 

Pat and Mike looked at each other. 
Never before had their mother said a word 
to them about any of their brothers. And 
while they looked at each other the brave 
little woman kept her eyes fixed on the 
stove. 

“The first step to bein’ an agitator,” she 
resumed, as if half to herself, “is niver to be 
doin’ what you ’re set to do good. Then, 
of course, them you work for don’t loike 
it, and small blame to ’em. And the nixt 
thing is to get turned off and somebody 
as will do it good put in your place. And 
then the nixt step is to go around tollin’ 
iverybody you meets, whether you knows 

[ 275 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


’em or not, how you ’re down on your luck. 
And how it ’s a bad world with no chance 
in it for poor folks, when iverybody knows 
most of the rich folks begun poor, and if 
there ’s no chance for poor folks, how comes 
them that ’s rich now to be rich when they 
started poor And then the nixt step is 
to make them that ’s content out of humor, 
rilin’ ’em up with wishin’ for what they ’ve got 
no business with, seein’ they hain’t earned 
it. And that ’s all there is to it, for sure 
when you ’ve got that far you ’re wan of 
them agitators.” 

The boys listened respectfully, and their 
mother went on : “ Little Jim ’s got started 

that way. He ’s that far along that he 
don’t do nothin’ good he ’s set at only when 
it ’s a happen so. You can’t depind on 
him. I ’ve got to head him off from bein’ 
an agitator, for he ’s your father’s b’y, and 
I can’t meet Tim in the nixt world if I let 

[ 276 ] 


THE WIDOW OXALLAGHAN’S BOYS 

Jim get ahead of me. B’ys, will you help 
me ? I ’ve always been thinkin’ I could n’t 
have your help; I must do it alone. But, 
by’s, I can’t do it alone.” The little woman’s 
countenance was anxious as she gazed into 
the sober faces of Pat and Mike. 

Nothing but boys themselves, though with 
the reliability of men, they promised to 
help. 

“I knowed you would,” said the widow, 
gratefully. “And now good night to you. 
It ’s gettin’ late. But you ’ve eased my 
moind wonderful. Just the spakin’ out has 
done me good. Maybe he ’ll come through 
all roight yet.” 

The next morning Mrs. O’ Callaghan rose 
with a face bright as ever, but Pat and Mike 
were still sober. 

“Cheer up!” was her greeting as they 
came into the kitchen where she was already 
bustling about the stove. “Cheer up, and 

[ 277 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


stand ready till I give you the word. I ’m 
goin’ to have wan more big try at Jim. You 
took such a load off me with your listenin’ 
to me and promisin’ to help that it ’s heart- 
ened me wonderful.” 

The two elder sons smiled. To be per- 
mitted to hearten their mother was to them 
a great privilege, and suddenly little Jim 
did not appear the hopeless case he had 
seemed when they went to bed the night 
before. They cheered up, and the three 
were pleasantly chatting when sleepy-eyed 
little Jim came out of the bedroom. 

“Hurry, now, and get washed, and then 
set your table,” said his mother, kindly. 

But little Jim was sulky. 

“I’m tired of gettin’ up early mornin’s 
just to be doin’ girl’s work,” he said. 

Mrs. O’ Callaghan nodded significantly at 
Pat and Mike. “What was that story, 
Moike, you was tellin’ me about the smartest 

[ 278 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


fellow in the Gineral’s mess, before he got 
to be a gineral, you know, bein’ so handy 
at all sorts of woman’s work ? Did n’t you 
tell me the Gineral said there could n’t no 
woman come up to him?” 

“I did, mother.” 

‘‘ I call that pretty foine. Heatin’ the 
women at their own work. There was only 
wan man in the mess that could do it, you 
said ?” 

“Yes, mother,” smiled Mike. 

“ I thought so. ’T ain’t often you foind 
a rale handy man loike that. And he was 
the best foighter they had, too?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

“I thought I remimbered all about it. 
Jim, here, can foight, but do woman’s work 
he can’t. That is, and do it good. He 
mostly gets the tablecloth crooked. No, he ’s 
no hand at the girl’s work.” 

“I’ll show you,” thought little Jim. On 

[ 279 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


a sudden the tablecloth was straight, and 
everything began to take its proper place 
on the table. 

“Mother,” ventured Pat, though he had 
not yet received the word, “ the table ’s 
set pretty good this morning.” 

“So it is, Pat, so it is,” responded the 
widow glancing it over. 

“Maybe Jim can do girl’s work after 
all.” 

“ Maybe he can, Pat, but he ’ll have to 
prove it before he ’ll foind them that ’ll 
belave it. That ’s the way in this world. 
’T is not enough to be sayin’ you can do 
this and that. You ’ve got to prove it. 
And how will you prove it.^ By doin’ it, 
of course.” 

Little Jim heard, though he did not seem 
to be listening, being intent on making 
things uncomfortable for Barney and Tom- 
mie as far as he could in a quiet way. 

[ 280 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


It was a passion with little Jim to prove 
things — not by his mother’s method, but 
by his own. So far his disputes had been 
with boys of his own size and larger, and 
if they doubted what he said he was in 
the habit of proving his assertions with his 
fists. The result was that other boys either 
dodged him or agreed with him with suspi- 
cious readiness. His mother had given him 
a fair trial at the housework. He would 
prove to her that it was not because he could 
not, but because he would not, that he suc- 
ceeded no better. He washed the dishes 
with care and put them shining on their 
shelves, and, a little later, poked his head 
out of the bedroom door into the kitchen. 

“Mother,” he said, “you think I can’t 
make a bed good, don’t you?” 

The widow smiled. “I think you don't 
make it good,” was her answer. 

Jim’s face darkened with resolution. “ She 
[ 281 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


thinks I can’t,” he said to himself. “I 
will, I guess.” 

With vim he set to work, and the bed 
was made in a trice. Little Jim stood off 
as far as he could and sharply eyed his work. 
“ ’T ain’t done good,” he snapped. And 
he tore it to pieces again. It took longer 
to make it the next time, for he was more 
careful, but still it did n’t look right. He 
tore the clothes off it again, this time with 
a sigh. “Beds is awful,” he said. “It’s 
lots easier to lick a boy than to make a bed.” 
And then he went at it again. The third 
time it was a trifle more presentable, and 
the school-bell was ringing. 

“ I ’ve got to go, and I hain’t proved it 
to her,” he said. “But I’ll work till I do, 
see if I don’t. And then when I have 
proved it to her I won’t make no more beds.” 

Jim was no favorite at school, where he 

had fallen a whole room behind the class 
[ 282 ] 



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THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


he had started with. His teacher usually 
wore a long-suffering air when she dealt 
with him. 

“ She looks like she thought I did n’t 
know nothin’ and never would,” he said 
to himself that morning when he had taken 
his seat after a decided failure of a recitation. 
“I’ll show her.” And he set to work. 
His mind was all unused to study, and — 
that day he did n’t show her. 

“Who’d ’a’ thought it was so hard to 
prove things.^” he said at night. “There’s 
another day a-comin’, though.” 

Now, some people are thankful for show- 
ing. To little Jim, showing was degrading. 
Suddenly his mother perceived this, and 
felt a relief she had not known before. 

“Whativer else Jim’s got or not got,” 
she said, “he’s got a backbone of his own, 
so he has. Let him work things out for 
himself. Will I be showin’ him how to make 

[ 283 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


a bed ? I won’t that. I ’ve been praisin’ him 
too much, intoirely. I see it now. Praise 
kapes Pat and Moike and Andy doin’ 
their best to get more of it. But it makes 
little Jim aisy in his moind and scorn- 
ful loike, so his nose is in the air all the 
toime and nothin’ done. A very little praise 
will do Jim. And still less of fault-findin’,” 
she added. 

“B’ys,” she announced that evening, 
“ Jim ’s took a turn. We ’ll stand off and 
watch him a bit. If he ’ll do roight for 
his own makin’, sure and that ’ll be better 
than for us to be havin’ a hand in it. Give 
him his head and plinty of chances to prove 
things, and when he has proved ’em, own 
up to it.” 

The two brightened. “I couldn’t be- 
lieve little Jim was so bad, mother,” said 
Mike. 

“Bad, is it? Sure and he ain’t bad 

[ 284 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


yet. And now ’s the toime to kape him 
from it. ’T is little you can be doin’ with 
a spoiled anything. Would you belave it.^ 
He made his bed three toimes this mornin’ 
and done his best at it, and me a-seein’ 
him through the crack of the door where 
it was open a bit. But I can’t say nothin’ 
to him nor show him how, for showin’ ’s 
not for the loike of him. And thim that 
takes iverything hard that way comes out 
sometimes at the top of the hape. Provin’ 
things is a lawyer’s business. If Jim iver 
gets to be a lawyer, he ’ll be a good wan.” 

Mike, when he went to bed that night, 
looked down at the small red head of the 
future lawyer, snuggled down into the pil- 
low, with the bedclothes close to his ears. 

“I ’ll not believe that Jim will ever come 
to harm,” he said. 


[ 285 ] 


CHAPTER XX 


“There ’s another day cornin’,” little Jim 
had said when he lay down in acknowledged 
defeat on the night that followed his first 
day of real trying. The other day came, 
and after it another and another, and still 
others till the first of March was at hand. 
In the three months, which was the sum 
of those “other days,” Jim had made good 
progress. For many weeks he had been 
perfect in the art of bed-making, but instead 
of giving up the practice of that accomplish- 
ment, as he had declared he would do so 
soon as he could prove to his mother that 
he could make a bed, he had become so 
cranky and particular that nobody else could 
make a bed to suit him. And as for study- 
ing — he was three classes ahead of where 
[ 286 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the first of December had found him. He 
could still whip any boy rash enough to 
encounter him, but his days and even his 
evenings, in great part, were given to pre- 
paring a triumph over his mates in his les- 
sons, and a surprise for his teacher. 

The widow used to lean back in her 
husband’s chair of an evening and watch 
him as he sat at the table, his elbows on 
the pine and his hands clutching his short 
hair, while the tiny, unshaded lamp stared 
in his face, and he dug away with a per- 
tinacity that meant and insured success. 

‘‘And what book is that you’ve got.^” 
she would ask when he occasionally lifted 
his eyes. He would tell her and, in a mo- 
ment, be lost to all surroundings, for lit- 
tle Jim was getting considerable enjoyment 
out of his hard work. 

“Pat nor Moike niver studied loike that,” 
thought Mrs. O’Callaghan. “Nor did even 

[ 287 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Andy. Andy, he always jist loved his book 
and took his lamin’ in aisy loike. But look at 
that little Jim work!” As for little Jim, 
he did not seem to observe that he was en- 
joying his mother’s favorable regard. 

“And what book is it you loike the best.^” 
she asked one evening, when Jim was about 
to go to bed. 

“The history book,” was the answer. 

“And why.?” 

“ ’Cause there ’s always a lot about the 
big foightin’ men in it.” 

“Ah!” said the widow. “Andy he 
loiked the history book best, too. But 
I did n’t know before ’t was for the 
foightin’.” 

“’T ain’t,” briefly replied little Jim. And 
seeing his mother’s questioning look he went 
on: “The history book’s got a lot in it, 
too, about the way the people lived, and 

the kings and queens, and them that wrote 
[ 288 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


poems and things. ’T is for that Andy 
loikes the history book. He ’ll be writin’ 
himself one of these days, I ’m thinkin’. 
His teacher says he writes the best essays 
in the school already.” 

And having thus artlessly betrayed Andy’s 
ambition, little Jim went to bed. 

“Ah!” thought the widow, getting out 
her darning, for only one could use the 
lamp at a time, and if Jim was of a mind 
to study she was of no mind to hinder him. 
“And is that what Andy ’d be at.^ I wonder 
now if that ’s a good business ? I don’t 
know none of them that has it, and I can’t 
tell.” She drew one of Jim’s stockings 
over her hand and eyed ruminatingly the pro- 
digious hole in the heel. “Thatb’y do be 
gettin’ through his stockin’s wonderful,” she 
said, dismissing Andy from her thoughts. 
“Well, if he niver does no worse than that I ’ll 
not be complainin’, but sure and he can make 

[ 289 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


more darnin’ than Pat and Moike and Andy 
put together.” 

Why are the winds of March so high.^^ 
This spring they blew a gale. As they roared 
around corners and through treetops and 
rushed down the streets with fury they made 
pedestrians unsteady. But they did not dis- 
turb little Jim, who buttoned up his coat tight, 
drew down his hat, and squared his shoulders 
as he went out to meet their buffets. There 
was that in littje Jim that rejoiced in such 
weather. 

One day those frantic winds reached down 
the big school-house chimney and drew up a 
spark of fire from the furnace in the basement. 
They lodged it where it would do the most 
harm, and in a short time, the janitor was run- 
ning with a white face to the principal’s oflSce. 
As quietly as possible each teacher was called 
out into the hall and warned. And in a few 
moments more, the pupils in every room were 

[ 290 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


standing in marching order waiting for the 
word to file out. Something was wrong each 
room knew from the face of its teacher. And 
then came the clang of the fire-bell, and the 
waiting ranks were terrified. 

Little Jim’s teacher, on the second fioor, 
was an extremely nervous young woman. In 
a voice that trembled with fright and excite- 
ment she had managed to give her orders. 
She had stationed most of the boys in a line 
running north and south and farthest from the 
door. Nearest the door were the girls and 
some of the smaller boys. And now they must 
wait for the signal that should announce the 
turn of their room to march out. As it h^^p- 
pened, little Jim stood at the head of the line 
of boys, with the girls not far from him. The 
fire-bell was ringing and all the whistles in 
town screaming. Below them they could hear 
the little ones hurried out; above them and 
on the stairs the third-floor pupils marching; 

[ 291 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


and then in little Jim’s room there was panic. 
The girls huddled closer together and began 
to cry. The boys behind little Jim began to 
crowd and push. The nearest boy was against 
him when little Jim half turned and threw him 
back to place by a vigorous jerk of his elbow. 

“ Boys ! Boys !” screamed the teacher, 
“stand still.” 

But they did not heed. Again they strug- 
gled forward, while the teacher covered 
her face with her hands in horror at the 
thought of what would happen on the 
crowded stairways if her boys rushed out. 

And then little Jim turned his back on the 
door and the girls near him and made ready 
his fists. “The first boy that comes I’ll 
knock down!” he cried. And the line shrank 
back. 

“We ’ll be burned ! We ’ll be burned up !” 
shrieked a boy, one of the farthest away. 

“You won’t be burned nayther,” called 

[ 292 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


back little Jim. ‘‘But you ’ll wish you was to- 
morrow if wan of you gets past me. Just you 
jump them desks and get past me and I ’ll lick 
you till you ’ll wish you was burnt up!” 

Little Jim’s aspect was so fierce, and the 
boys knew so well that he would do just as he 
said, that not one moved from his place. One 
minute little Jim held that line of boys. Then 
the door opened and out filed the girls. When 
the last one had disappeared little Jim stepped 
aside. “ Go out now,” he said, with fine con- 
tempt, “ you that are so afraid you ’ll get 
burned yourselves that you ’d tramp the girls 
down.” 

The last to leave the room were the teacher 
and little Jim. Her grasp on his arm 
trembled, but it did not let go, even when they 
had reached the campus, which was full of 
people. Every business man had locked his 
doors and had run with his clerks to the fire. 
For this was no ordinary fire. The children 

[ 293 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


of the town were in danger. At a distance 
Jim could see Pat with Larry in his arms, and 
Barney and Tommie close beside him, and 
here and there, moving anxiously through the 
crowd, he saw General Brady and Mike and 
Andy. But the teacher’s grasp on his arm 
did not relax. The fire was under control now 
and no damage had been done that could not 
be repaired. And the teacher was talking. 
And everybody near was listening, and more 
were crowding around and straining their ears 
to hear. Those nearest were passing the 
story on, a sentence at a time, after the 
manner of interpreters, and suddenly there 
was a shout, “Three cheers for little Jim 
O’Callaghan!” 

And then Mike came tearing up and gave 
him a hug and a pat on the back. And up 
came Andy with a look in his eyes that made 
little Jim forgive him on the spot for being first 
in that housework team in which he himself 

[ 294 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S' BOYS 


had been placed second by his mother. And 
the General had him by the hand with a “Well 
done, Jim!” At which Jim appeared a trifle 
bewildered. His fighting propensities had 
been frowned on so long. 

At her wash place the widow had heard 
nothing, the wind having carried all sounds of 
commotion the other way, and there were no 
children in the family to come unexpectedly 
home bringing the news. It was when she 
stepped into her own kitchen, earlier than 
usual, and found Barney and Tommie there 
with Larry, who had accompanied them that 
day as visitor, that she first heard of the fire. 
And the important thing to Barney and 
Tommie was that their vacation had come 
sooner than they had hoped. Later came 
Jim, stepping high from the General’s praise. 
But his mother thought nothing of that. Jim’s 
ways were apt to be airy. 

But when Pat and Mike came to supper 

[ 295 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


the story was told. The widow listened witti 
an expression of pride. And when the story 
and supper were finished, she took little Jim 
by the hand and led him along the tortuous 
path t'lrough the furniture to the family seat 
of honor. “Sit there in the father’s chair,” 
she commanded. “I niver thought to be 
puttin’ wan of my b’ys there for foightin’, but 
foightin’ ’s the thing sometimes.” 

This was on Tuesday. The next day the 
leading paper of the town came out, and it con- 
tained a full account of little Jim’s coolness 
and bravery. 

“They ’ll be spoilin’ little Jim, so they will,” 
said the widow, as she read with glistening 
eyes. Then she rose to put the paper care- 
fully away among the few family treasures, 
and set about making little Jim a wonderful 
pudding. If he were to be spoiled she might 
as well have a hand in it. “Though maybe 
he won’t be nayther,” she said. “Him that 

[ 296 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


had that much sinse had ought to have enough 
to stand praisin’.” 

That evening home came Andy to find his 
mother absorbed in the fascinating occupation 
of hearing from little Jim’s own lips what each 
individual person had said to him during the 
day. 

“Well,” little Jim was saying, just as 
Andy came in, “I should think they ’d said 
’most enough. I did n’t do anything but keep 
them lubberly boys from trampin’ the girls 
down, and it was easy enough done, too.” 

At which speech the widow perceived 
that, as yet, little Jim was not particularly 
spoiled by all his praise. “ ’T was the history 
book that done it,” thought the mother 
thankfully. “ Sure and he knows he ’s done 
foine, but he ain’t been braggin’ on himself 
much since he took to that, I ’ve noticed. 
There ’s books of all sorts, so there is, some 

for wan thing and some for another, 
[ 297 ] 


THE WIDOW O'CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


" but it ’s the history book that cures the 
consate.” 

“We ’re very busy up at our house,” ob- 
served Andy. And the widow could scarcely 
bring herself to heed him. 

“Yes,” went on Andy, “we’ve been 
baking cake to-day, and there ’s more to do 
to-morrow. The General and Mrs. Brady 
are going to give little Jim a party Friday eve- 
ning. General Brady is wonderfully pleased 
with Jim.” 

Then, indeed, he had his mother’s attention. 
“A party is it.^” she said, with gratified pride. 
“ ’T is the Gineral and Mrs. Brady that knows 
how to take a body’s full cup and jist run it 
over. I could n’t have wished nothin’ no 
better than that. And nobody could n’t 
nayther. I ’ll be up to-morrow mysilf to help, 
and the nixt day, too. Don’t tell me there ’s 
nothin’ I can’t be doin’. Jim can run things 
to home, can’t you, Jim?” 

[ 298 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Little Jim thought he could. 

“ I ’ll have Pat and Moike see to gettin’ 
him a new suit to-morrow. It ’s late to be 
gettin’ him a new suit and him a-growin’, but 
if he can’t wear it nixt fall Barney can, and 
it ’s proud he ’ll be to do it, I ’m thinkin’. 
’T is n’t often the nixt youngest b’y has a 
chance to wear a new suit got for his brother 
because he done good and had n’t nothin’ fit 
to wear to a party, nayther. But Wennott ’s 
the town. A party for my Jim, and at Gin- 
eral Brady’s too! Would anybody have be- 
laved it when we come with nothin’ to the 
shanty ? ’T is the proudest thing that iver 
come to us, but no pride could there be about 
it if little Jim had n’t desarved it.” 

The widow’s heart was full. ‘Tvery b’y, 
as he has come along, has made me proud,” 
she went on. “ First Pat and then Moike and 
then you, Andy, with your book, and now little 
Jim with his foightin’. And that ’s what beats 

[ 299 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


me, that I should be proud of my b’y’s 
foightin’. And I am that.” 

Friday evening seemed a long way off to 
little Jim when he lay down on his bed that 
night. He had never attended a party in his 
life. Andy had spoken of cake, and, by private 
questioning, little Jim had discovered that 
there would be ice cream. He tried to imagine 
what a party was like, but having no knowl- 
edge to go on, he found the effort wearisome, 
and so dropped asleep. 


[ 300 ] 


CHAPTER XXI 

Little Jim had never been farther than Gen- 
eral Brady’s kitchen. It wa*s a kitchen of 
which he approved, because it had no path in 
it. One might go through it in a great hurry 
without coming to grief on some chair back, 
or the foot-board of the mother’s bed, or the 
rocker of the father’s chair. Neither was one 
in danger of bringing up suddenly on the 
corner of the table, or against the side of the 
stove. The younger O’Callaghans were free 
from numerous bruises only because they knew 
their way, and proceeded with caution. The^e 
was no banging the door open suddenly at 
the shanty, because there was always some 
article of furniture behind the door to catch 
it and bang it back sharply into a boy’s face. 
It was upon these differences in the two kitch- 

[ 301 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ens that little Jim reflected when, arrayed in 
the new suit, he slipped around the house and 
was ushered in by Andy. 

“What’s this!” cried the General, who 
had caught a glimpse of the swiftly scudding 
little figure as it rounded the corner. “ What ’s 
this!” and he stood smiling at the door that 
opened from the back of the hall into the 
kitchen. “The hero of the hour coming in 
by the back door. This will never do, Jim. 
Come with me.” 

Bravely little Jim went forward. He 
stepped into the hall close behind the General, 
and suddenly glanced down. He could 
hardly believe his ears. Was he growing 
deaf? There walked the General ahead of 
him, and little Jim could not hear a footfall, 
neither could he hear his own tread. 

But little Jim said nothing. They were 
now come to the hall-tree, and the General him- 
self helped his guest off with his overcoat and 

[ 302 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


hung it beside his own. And as for little Jim, 
he could hang up his own cap when his host 
showed him where. 

Then in through the parlor door they went 
and on through the folding doors into the sit- 
ting-room, where Mrs. Brady stood among her 
plants. She had just cut two lovely roses 
from the same bush, and one she pinned on 
her husband’s coat and the other on little Jim’s 
jacket. 

‘‘Parties is queer,” thought little Jim, “but 
they ’re nice.” 

For Mrs. Brady, in her quiet way, was con- 
triving to let the boy understand that she 
thought exceedingly well of him. It began to 
grow dusk, but it was not yet so dark that little 
Jim failed to see Pat and Mike come in and 
run lightly up the stairs. And then there was a 
tramp of feet outside, the doorbell rang, and as 
the electric light flooded the house, Andy opened 

the front door and in trooped boys and girls. 

[ 303 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Little Jim was amazed. Not one came 
into the parlor, but Andy sent them all up- 
stairs. 

“Is them boys and girls the party he 
asked quickly of Mrs. Brady. 

“Yes, Jim,” was the kind answer. “Your 
party.” 

Little Jim reflected. “ I ’d best not be 
lickin’ any of the boys then this evenin’ 
And he turned inquiring eyes on Mrs. 
Brady. 

Mrs. Brady smiled. “No, Jim,” she re- 
plied. “You must try to please them in 
every way that you can, and make them 
enjoy themselves.” 

“Let ’em do just as they’re a moind to, 
and not raise a fuss about it.^^” 

“Yes.” 

Little Jim straightened himself. “I never 
seen no parties before,” he said, “but I guess 
I can run it.” 


[ 304 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


And then downstairs came the guests and 
into the parlor to shake hands with General 
and Mrs. Brady and Jim. The gay company 
spread themselves through the parlor and 
sitting-room. They chattered, they laughed, 
they got up from their seats and sat down 
again, and all the time little Jim had a keen 
eye upon them. He had never before seen 
little girls dressed so, and he noticed that 
every boy had a flower on his jacket. 

And then little Jim bestirred himself. He 
was here, there, and everywhere. Did a girl 
suggest a game, Jim so engineered that the 
whole company were soon engaged in it, and 
he himself was the gayest player of all. Not 
once did he suggest anything. But often he 
slipped up to Mrs. Brady or the General and 
did what he had never done before in his life 
— asked advice. 

“Am I runnin’ it right he would whisper 
in Mrs. Brady’s ear; and murmur apologet- 

[ 305 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


ically to the General, “I never seen no parties 
before.” 

“And how do you like parties, Jim ?” asked 
the General, indulgently. 

“ I think there ’s nothin’ to equal ’ em,” 
was the fervent answer. And then away 
went the young host. 

At half-past nine Andy appeared at the 
hall door. Jim saw him and his heart sank. 
Was the party over ? He feared so, since Mrs. 
Brady, followed by the General, went out of 
the room. But in a moment the General came 
back to the doorway. The guests seemed to 
understand, for a sudden hush fell on the talk- 
ative tongues. The General saw Jim’s un- 
certain expression and beckoned to him. 

“We are going out to supper,” he said. 
“Go ask Annie Jamieson to walk out with 
you.” 

Jim obeyed promptly. All at once he re- 
membered the cake and ice cream. His heart 

[ 306 ] 





He swelled with pride as he led the pretty little maid 





THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


swelled with pride as he led the pretty little 
girl across the hall and into the dining-room. 
And there was Pat and Mike and Andy show- 
ing the guests to their places and prepared to 
wait upon them. And if they beamed upon 
little Jim, he beamed back with interest. He 
was supremely happy. How glad he was that 
Mike had taught him Mrs. Brady’s way of 
laying the table, and how to eat properly ! He 
thought of his mother, and wished that she 
might see him. But she was at home caring 
for Barney and Tommie and Larry. 

“Sure and I can’t lave ’em by thimsilves 
in the evenin’. Something moight happen to 
’em,” said this faithful mother. 

Such food Jim had not tasted before, but 
he ate sparingly. He was too happy to eat, 
for little Jim, although extremely fond of pud- 
ding, was no glutton. There he sat with his 
auburn hair on end, his blue eyes bright 
and shining, smiles and grave looks chasing 

[ 307 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


themselves over his face till the General was 
prouder of him than ever. 

“I ’m not sure but he ’s the O’Callaghan,” 
he told his wife, when the children had gone 
back to the parlor for a final game before the 
party should break up. “But it is that 
mother of his and his older brothers who have 
brought him on.” 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Pat and Mike 
and Andy washed the dishes and put things to 
rights with three hearts full of pride in little 
Jim. 

“To think the mother was afraid he would 
turn out an agitator!” said Pat. 

“This night settles that,” responded Mike. 
“He ’s more likely to turn out a society man. 
He ’ll be a credit to us all.” 

At last the guests were gone. And then, 
for the first time, little Jim’s eyes examined, 
with keen scrutiny, the pretty rooms, while the 
General and Mrs. Brady kept silence, content 

[ 308 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


to observe him with affectionate interest. 
Finally the boy came back from things to 
people, and he came with a sigh. 

“Have you enjoyed yourself?” asked the 
General, smiling. 

“Yes, sir. I never had such a toime before 
in my loife. ’T is parties as are the thing.” 
He paused and then asked, “How will I be 
goin’ at it to get me a house like this?” 

And then the General looked astonished. 
He had not yet fully measured little Jim’s am- 
bition that stopped at nothing. Hitherto it 
had been that pernicious ambition that desires, 
and at the same time lazily refuses to put forth 
the exertion necessary to attain it, or it had 
been that other scarcely less reprehensible am- 
bition that exerts itself simply to outshine 
others, and Mrs. O’Callaghan had had good 
cause to be anxious about Jim. To-night it 
was the right sort of ambition, backed by a 
remarkably strong will and boundless energy. 

[ 309 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


He looked up at the General with confidence, 
and waited to be told just how he could get 
such a house for himself. 

The General gazed down into the clear, un- 
shamed depths of little Jim’s blue eyes. The at- 
titude of the O’Callaghans toward him always 
touched him. His money had nothing to do 
with it, nor had his superior social position. 
It was he himself that the O’Callaghans re- 
spected, admired, loved, and venerated, and 
this without in the least abating their own self- 
respect and independence. It was like being 
the head of a clan, the General told him- 
self, and he liked it. So now he answered, 
with his hand on little Jim’s shoulder, “Work, 
my boy, and study, work and study.” 

“And is that all.^^” questioned Jim, disap- 
pointedly. “ Sure and that ’s like my mother 
tellin’ me dustin’ and dishwashin’ was my first 
two steps.” 

“Well, they were your first steps, Jim, be- 

[ 310 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


cause they were the duties that lay nearest 
you. But it will take more than work and 
study, after all.” 

“ I thought it would, sir. This is an awful 
nice house.” 

“Would you like to walk upstairs and look 
about asked the General. 

“I would,” was the eager answer. 

So the General and Mrs. Brady and Jim 
went up. 

“This is the sort of a room for my mother,” 
declared little Jim, after he had carefully ex- 
amined the large guest chamber. “Pat and 
Mike got her the summer kitchen, but I ’ll be 
gettin’ her a whole house, so I will. Sleepin’ 
in the kitchen will do for them that likes it. 
And now what ’s the rest of it besides work 
and study .^” 

“ Have you ever seen any poor boys smoke 
cigars, Jim.?” 

“Yes, sir.” 


[ 311 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“And cigarettes?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And pipes?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And drink beer?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And whiskey?” 

“Y'es, sir.” 

“xAnd chew tobacco?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Those are the boys who, when they are 
men, are going to be poor. Mark that, Jim. 
They are going to be poor.” 

“They won’t have any house like this?” 

“Not unless somebody who has worked 
hard gives it to them, or unless they cheat for 
it, Jim.” 

“Huh!” said Jim. “I’m down on 
cheatin’. I ’ll lick any boy that cheats me 
or tries to, and I don’t want nobody to 
give me nothin’.” And with that little Jim 

[ 312 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


cooled down to pursue his former train of 
thought. 

“And if I work and study and let them 
things alone, I can have a house like this some 
day.?” 

“Yes, Jim, if some misfortune does not be- 
fall you, like a long sickness in the family, or 
an accident to you.” 

“I’m goin’ to try for it,” declared Jim, 
with decision. “Them that would rather 
have cigars and such than a nice house like 
this can have ’em, and it ’s little sense they ’ve 
got, too. I ’ll take the house.” 

The General laughed. “You will take it, 
Jim, I don’t doubt,” he said. “ Come to me, 
whenever you wish to ask any questions, and 
I will answer them if I can.” 

“I will, sir,” replied little Jim. “And 
when you want me to I ’ll wash your dishes. 
I said once I would n’t, but now I will.” 

“Thank you, Jim,” responded the General. 

[ 313 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


Peppery, headstrong little Jim went home 
that night walking very erect. Pat and Mike 
were one on each side of him, but he hardly 
knew it, he was so busy looking forward to the 
time when he should have a house like the 
General’s, when his mother would pin a flower 
on his coat, and he should give parties, and as 
many of them as he chose. 

And of all these plans his mother heard with 
wonder and astonishment. 

‘‘Your party ’s made a man of you, Jim,” 
said the widow at last. “I’d niver have 
thought of a party doin’ it, nayther, though I 
was wantin’ it done bad. Your father was 
the man as loiked noice things, and he ’d have 
got ’em, too, if sickness had n’t come to 
him.” 

And now little Jim’s reward had come. At 
last his mother had said he was like his father. 
He was as good as Pat and Mike and Andy, 
and his heart swelled. 

[ 314 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


“But, Jim dear, you ’d be gettin’ your 
house quicker if we was all to help toward 
it.” 

“And then ’t would n’t be mine,” objected 
Jim. 

“No more it wouldn’t,” assented Mrs. 
O’Callaghan, “but ’t would be better than 
livin’ in the shanty years and years. You 
don’t want to kape livin’ here till you have a 
foine house loike the Gineral’s, do you, Jim ?’* 

“No,” reluctantly answered the little fel- 
low, glancing about him. 

“I knowed you didn’t. For sure you’re 
not the wan to let your ambition run away 
with your sinse. A neat little house, 
now, with only two b’ys to a bedroom and 
wan bedroom for me — what do you say to 
it, Jim.?” 

Then and there it was settled, and 
that night each boy had a different dream 
about the neat little house to be — Jim’s, of 

[ 315 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


course, being the most extravagant. That 
week the first five dollars toward it was de- 
posited with the General. 

“And I ’ll be keepin’ a sharp lookout on 
Barney and Tommie,” was Jim’s unasked 
promise to his mother. “You ’ve no idea 
what little chaps smoke them cigarettes. I 
can fix it. I ’ll just be lettin’ the boys 
know that every wan of them that helps Bar- 
ney and Tommie to wan of them things will 
get a lickin’ from me.” 

“Is that the best way, do you think, Jim 
“Sure and I know it is. I ’ve seen them 
big boys givin’ ’em to the little wans, particu- 
lar to them as their folks don’t want to use 
’em. The General ’s down on th^m things, 
and Barney and Tommie sha’n’t have ’em.” 

“Five dollars in the bank!” exclaimed the 
widow. She was surrounded by her eldest 
four sons, for it was seven o’clock in the morn- 
ing. “Two years we’ve been in town, and 

[ 316 ] 


THE WIDOW O’CALLAGHAN’S BOYS 


them two years has put all four of you where 
I ’m proud of you. All four of you has sat in 
the father’s chair for good deeds done. What 
I am thinkin’ is, will Barney and Tommie and 
Larry sit there, too, when their turn comes 

“They will that!” declared Jim with au- 
thority. 

“ Of course they will, mother,” encouraged 
Pat. 

“They are father’s boys, too,” said Andy. 

“And your boys, mother. Where else 
would your boys sit?” asked Mike. 

And then the widow smiled. “I belave 
you ’ll ivery wan of you come to good,” she 
said. “There’s small bad ahead of b’ys 
that has a bit of hearjtsome blarney for their 
mother, and love in their eyes to back 
their words. Some has farms and money. 
But if any one would be tellin’ of my riches, 
sure all they’ve got to say is, ‘The Widow 
O’Callaghan’s b’ys.’ ” 


[ 317 ] 







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Good Reasons for the Popularity of 

THE 

Widow O’Callaghan’s Boys 


IT has succeeded by its own sterling merit 
and without the assistance of exaggerated 
advertising, and a popularity of this kind is 
always permanent. The charm of the book 
lies in the human interest of the sympathetic- 
ally told story; its value in the excellent les- 
sons that are suggested to the youthful mind 
in the most unobtrusive manner. Nothing is 
so distasteful to a healthy youngster as an 
overdose of obvious moral suasion in his fiction. 

EXPERT TESTIMONY 

Principal Ferris, 0/ the Ferris Institute, Michigan, 
expresses somewhat the same idea in a letter to the pub- 
lishers: “ I bought the book and read it myself, then read it 
to my ten-year-old boy. He was captivated. I then tried 
it on my school of 600 students — relatively mature people. 
They were delighted. ‘Widow O’Callaghan’s Boys’ is an 
exceptional book. It is entirely free from the weaknesses of 
the ordinary Sunday school book. The methods used by 
the Widow O’Callaghan in training her boys are good 
methods for training boys in the school room. The truth 
of the matter is the book contains first-class pedagogy. 
There are comparatively few first-class juvenile books. 
‘ Widow O’Callaghan’s Boys ’ is a jewel. It is worthy 
of being classed as first-class literature.” 


A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers 




NEWSPAPER OPINIONS OF 

THE 

Widow O’Callaghan’s Boys 


“It is a story of sturdy, level-headed effort to meet the 
world on its own rather severe terms, and to win from it 
success and progress. No strokes of miraculous good luck 
befall these young heroes of peace; but they deserv^e what 
they gain, and the story is told so simply, and yet with 
so much originality, that it is quite as interesting read- 
ing as are the tales where success is won by more sen- 
sational methods. The good sense, courage, and tact of 
the widow herself ought to afford inspiration to many 
mothers apparently more fortunately situated. It is a 
book to be heartily commended.” — Christian Register. 

“ They are but simple adventures in ‘ The Widow 
O’Callaghan’s Boys,’ but they are pleasant to read of. 
The seven boys, whom the widow trains to be good and 
useful men, are as plucky as she; and they have a good 
bit of Irish loyality as well as of the Irish brogue.” — 
The Dial. 

“ The brave little Irishwoman’s management and en- 
couragement of them, amid poverty and trouble, the char- 
acters of the boys themselves, their cheerfulness, courage, 
and patience, and the firm grip which they take upon 
the lowest rounds of the ladder of success, are told simply 
and ^^ghtfully.” — Buffalo Express. 

^ Cli^mile of pleasure at the happy ending is one 
that will be accompanied by a dimness of vision in the 
eyes of many readers.” — Philadelphia Press. 


A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers 













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